


When Time Stands Still -ARCHIVED-

by BanhTM



Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2020-07-23 05:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 256,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20002807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanhTM/pseuds/BanhTM
Summary: -ARCHIVED-New version is up! Check main page.





	1. Awakening

Cynthia wakes to the soft luminescence of an overhead light. Harsh sunlight is spilling from the windows, the warmth caressing her cheek. The place is quiet, save for the dull hum of ventilation. As her head clears, her mind begins to crank in the missing pieces. She lets out a little groan, making the person beside jolt ever so slightly.

Cynthia blearily looks at her visitor. He’s staring at her with a guarded expression, his eyes not really on her face, instead, they linger at the cave of her chin.

“Oh. Hello. Are you a spaceman?” she chirps pleasantly, despite the feeling of cotton smothering her brain.

The man purses his pale lips. She can’t read anything from his eyes, let alone the rest of his expression.

“Are you well enough to walk?” His voice is rough but soft, an eerie monotone as if his heart is made of stone.

“My head hurts,” she grumbles, peeking at him from under her long hair. He still looks on edge, expectant… as if waiting for something terrible to happen. “Where is this place?”

“You don’t remember?” His voice remains neutral while a faint hint of _something_ flashes through his eyes. Shock? Surprise?

“Remember… what?”

The man slowly rises with his hands clasped behind his back, quite possibly a result of a habit that failed to die. He tilts his head, thinking. Then he slowly withdraws a red-and-white ball from his pocket.

“Do you know what this is?” he says softly.

“A Poke Ball.”

The man’s face is grim as he pushes the button. A large dragon emerges in a flash of red light, materializing next to Cynthia with bared fangs. The dragon whirls to the man with gaping jaw, almost like a gasp.

“Garchomp?” she gasps. The dragon turns. If Pokemon can cry, then this one certainly comes close to it. The Pokemon gives a strange, warbled moan as it wades to her side, burying its pointed head into her stomach.

“Woah. Calm down, Garchomp. You’re hurting me.” She grasps the dragon’s head gingery, as if it might shatter before her. The Pokemon stares back with wide, beady eyes.

“Strange,” she mutters, half to herself. “I get the feeling that I’ve known you for a long time…”

The man has been so silent that Cynthia almost forgot he existed. Garchomp whirls again and tugs at the man's arm. His eyes flicker to the woman on the bed, and he yanks his wrists away. Then out of nowhere, a Crobat swoops down and perches on his shoulder.

“Garchomp!” Cynthia cries. The Pokemon rushes to her side. She holds it close, feeling its thumping heart against her own heaving chest.

"Wow, Garchomp doesn't usually like strangers." She steals a glance to the silent man. "What'd you do to her?"

“You're mistaken. Your Pokemon do not like me,” he states flatly, although a ghost of a smirk graces his lips. The Crobat perches on his shoulder, acting like a tiny but faithful sentinel. It nips his fingers, which Cynthia notices are heavily bandaged.

Garchomp busies itself with watching a passing Starly.

“You remember Pokemon, at the very least,” he says after an awkward silence.

The current issue of her memory loss jolts her back to reality. “Yes… but everything else is… blurry.” When she tries to access her recollections, a heavy lock stands in the way, as if _something_ is intentionally keeping her in the dark.

The man frowns. “This isn’t a trick, is it?”

Cynthia frowns. “What trick?” His brow furrows at her reaction, and she can see the gears cranking in his mind. Crobat casts a glance at Garchomp and tilts its head.

“Do you remember your name?”

“Cynthia.” Did she imagine it, or did a dark shadow pass across his face?

“Do you remember where you were born?”

Cynthia mulls it over for a bit. Fog. A heavy fog and the musty smell of herbs tickle the canals of memory, but it’s too intangible to piece everything together.

She shakes her head.

The man’s expression remains stoic. “Do you remember anything before you awoke?”

Cynthia squeezes her eyes shut. Rocks. Rocks and dirt. Something golden. Something bright and searing… something, or _someone_ that made blood coil down her heart.

Garchomp whimpers. Cynthia blinks and realizes that she’s drenched with cold sweat.

“I’ll leave now,” the man says softly. He gives her another look before exiting, his Crobat staring at her as the door closes. Cynthia recollects herself before slowly closing her eyes. Garchomp nuzzles her hand as the world fades to grey, and the only light is the golden “G” emblazoned on the back of his coat.

* * *

When she awakes, harsh, golden light blinds her eyes. Something’s crunching next to her, and the sudden, unexplained fear of being crushed to death jolts her fully awake.

“Oh… Garchomp…” She exhales a sigh of relief. The Pokemon chirps happily and continues munching on its food. Cynthia leans over the side and notices these round, petite breads that vary in color: from orange to blue, green to yellow. Garchomp is finishing the pink breads.

“What is that?” Her stomach rumbles. Garchomp nudges a bread to her hand. It's pleasantly sweet aroma tickles her nostrils.

“That’s Pokemon food,” a familiar voice drawls from the door. The same man from earlier steps into view, his Crobat on his shoulder, a tray in his hands. “Poffins.”

“Poffins?”

“Yes. Poffins are treats native to the Sinnoh region.” He never breaks monotone, yet his eyes hold veiled interest.

“Sinnoh? Sounds mysterious.”

“Yes… the region where you and I are standing right now. Sinnoh boasts an impressive arrays of myths, more so than other regions." 

“I love myths! You know a lot about this place.” She gives him a small, radiant smile. And for a moment, if just for the briefest slip in time, his brows shoot to his forehead, and his carefully constructed mask of impassiveness cracks like the earth. It’s as if he’d just witnessed an ancient taboo.

“You need to work on recovering those memories.” His break of character is too fast and sudden for Cynthia’s brain to fully register that it even happened in the first place. But the Pokemon saw it. Garchomp’s mouth is open, leaving crumbs and saliva on the floor while Crobat stares at its Trainer like he just grew wings.

The man opens his mouth, as if to say something, but quickly retracts it.

“What?” Her tone is pleasant and casual. _Am I making him uncomfortable…?_

“You need to eat,” he finally says, although it sounds like a grumble. He inches to her bed, almost robot-like. Garchomp even makes way for him to enter. The man is still a good distance from her when he extends his long arms and places a tray of hot soup and cake on her bedside.

“You can come a little closer, if you want.” He just shakes his head. _Germaphobe, anyone? Maybe he’s just shy…_ Cynthia looks down at her food: chicken soup and a small, pretty plate of dark cake.

“Is that gateau?” she gasps, clasping her hands together. A small memory sparks in her mind when she raises the spoon to her mouth. Sun. Footprints in the golden sands. Laughter. Bubbles. A certain saying about palm trees.

Garchomp is whining again. Cynthia blinks hard. That memory leaves an odd, nostalgic taste in her mouth, well before she even touches the food. A sense of dread and sadness lingers over her mind, as if something had been lost… and it was too late to turn back.

Once again, the man is staring at her with a frustratingly blank look on his face.

“You remembered something.” It’s not a question. But it’s not a confirmation, either.

“Maybe.” She messages her temples. “It’s coming in bits and scatters… I can’t really make out anything.” She then looks up, and the man’s eyes widen just a bit. That sunny memory bothers her somehow. _The boy’s face… this man’s face…_

“Do I know you?”

His mask is too carefully constructed. Crobat hisses, but he waves a dismissive hand. “What did you remember?”

Cynthia begins to open her mouth until she stops. And finally, after everything that happened, she questions herself. Actually _questioning_ the liability of revealing any more damning evidence to this stranger. _Who is he? Did he know me?_ Garchomp seems to think so, but Pokemon can’t talk. _And why am I mindlessly taking food from a man that might be my enemy? Maybe…_

_Maybe…_

Garchomp senses the tension in the room and responds with a low growl.

“I think I’ve talked too much for today,” she says with a forced smile.

He blinks. “Then get some rest.”

_Wait a minute, you can’t just give up like that!_ “I have some questions of my own. First, who are you? Why are you so interested in what I can remember?”

“My name is not important.”

“That’s not fair. You expect me to give without giving me anything to work with? I don’t even know if you’re my friend or my enemy!”

The man gives a strained, bitter smirk. “I’m also piecing your story. I do not know why you’ve lost your memory, or the events leading to such an incident.”

Cynthia’s lips are twisting into a snarl. His monotone voice unlocks something in her memory, like a thorn wedging itself into her side. It’s an unpleasant feeling. Derision. Ire. _Repulsion._ Something that makes her skin crawl.

And yet… a quiet sadness would present itself when those emotions pass. That sunlit memory again… the soft cries of the ocean…

“What are you, a robot?” She blurts it out before realizing how stupid it must’ve sounded. How hurtful it might've been.

But he merely tilts his head, not surprised in the least. “Emotions are unreliable," says he. "It is impulses like those that lead to strife in this world, where humans follow the follies of their hearts.”

Cynthia gapes. His expression is grim.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” he finally says, as if nothing had happened. “If you eat something.”

Cynthia hesitates. There are really no words that can follow such a _… direct declaration._

“Promise?” she huffs and mentally slaps herself. _So childish…_

“Yes.”

Cynthia gingerly brings the soup to her lips. She blows gently—and almost chokes upon ingesting. “It’s a little salty.” _It's hella salty. What'd you do, dump the whole sea in here?!_

“Oh.” His gaze drops to the floor. Although heavily seasoned, the soup releases a contentment that fills her stomach with warmth. She feels safe… the same sense of safety of a child in their parents’ arms.

She polishes the cake. “A little sweet.” _I'm getting cavities just from this._ He sees through her though. Crobat nips at his ears consolingly. Garchomp seems to laugh. Cynthia licks her spoon clean. _The gateau… is eerily familiar._ _Was it my favorite snack?_ Especially _this_ one… she can distinctively remember this flavor, but association is still far from her reach.

The man silently takes the empty plates and sets them aside. He still makes no motion come closer.

“That was good,” she says, unsure of whether to give him a smile.

The man isn’t looking at her. He seems to be avoiding her gaze for some absurd reason.

“You’re a little weird.” The words tumble out of her mouth before her brain can process them. Now he looks at her, his dim eyes unusually bright. “I mean… not in a bad way. I think you’re really interesting.”

He blinks.

Cynthia clears her throat loudly. “S-so. You promised. Explain.” She tries to keep the flush from entering her cheeks.

“Very well.” His voice indicates that he isn’t affected by her sudden proclamation at all. “You were unconscious in the forest. When I arrived, you were asleep on the ground. I could only salvage your Garchomp, but I failed to locate the rest of your Pokemon.”

“Wait. The _forest?”_ She stares into Garchomp’s eyes and hopes for the miraculous chance that it can talk.

“Yes. I believe you were searching for something, based on your scattered equipment.”

Cynthia grasps her head. Memory still frustratingly eludes her. Yet, the rational part of her mind insists that he’s right, that she did venture into the forest, and that something bad _did_ happened to her.

“What were _you_ doing out there?”

“Research,” he says and ends the topic there. Crobat flexes its wings casually.

Cynthia growls. “I still can’t remember.”

The man tilts his head, his eyes slowing moving to the darkening sky. “Memory is a difficult thing. Fleeting. Malleable. In your case, I believe that only time may restore such capricious machinations.”

Cynthia blinks. The man’s eyes stray further away from her. “I can tell you more tomorrow. For now, just focus on resting.”

“I’m not tired,” Cynthia pouts. He almost looks amused. Almost. Her head is pounding from the stress of remembering what isn’t there and the warm lull of heavily-seasoned food in her stomach.

The spaceman with icy blue eyes gives her an unreadable look once again before leaving with his Crobat. The door closes, casting the room in comforting darkness.

Garchomp snuggles next to her. Cynthia absently strokes its head. Before fatigue completely overtakes her, she hears voices from outside the room. One voice she doesn’t recognize.

“—you sleep tonight, Master Cyrus? She’s in your—”

“I can stay in the Nap Room.”

“But sir—”

“Commander.”

Cynthia is already drifting off into sleep.

_So the spaceman’s name is Cyrus, eh?_

_Cyrus… like the sun…?_


	2. Breakfast Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face joins Cynthia for breakfast.

Cynthia is jolted from sleep by her Garchomp’s snoring. _Garchomp can snore?_ She reluctantly sits up and shakes the Pokemon.

“Garchomp, get off,” she hisses. The dragon smacks its lips and yawns. “Garchomp!”

There’s a soft knocking on the door. “I’m awake,” she says. First the outline of his light hair peeks into view. Then his blue eyes, then the rest of his face.

“Good morning," he says in monotone.

“Morning.” She smiles. His brow furrows slightly. “Where’s your Crobat?”

“She’s resting.”

“Oh.” He’s still standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Um… Cyrus?”

The calm breaks from his face. He looks a little _too_ shocked, as if he’d been sucker-punched.

“Um… that’s your name, right?” Cynthia continues softly, keeping her voice steady. “I heard someone talking to you yesterday…”

His demeanor instantly reverts to his impassive mask. _He looks almost… relieved._ “Yes.”

“I think it’s a wonderful name,” she says quickly. Yesterday she messed up by calling him weird. She’s determined to patch up the awkwardness today. “‘Cyrus’, as in the sun.” He tilts his head with an unreadable expression. Something about her words tug at her memory, as if she’d uttered this phase, verbatim, at another point in time.

“Um… Sorry,” she mutters after a silence. _Wow. Great job, Cynthia. You really patched it up with him there_. “I didn’t mean to insult you.” Garchomp gently nudges her hand. She bites her tongue.

“Are you hungry?” His voice is low.

Her stomach answers for her. Cynthia ducks her head to hide the blush creeping to her face. Garchomp shakes, as if it’s laughing.

“Follow me.” His voice still doesn’t break monotone. Cynthia pulls back the covers. “Oh, don’t bother with making the bed. You’ll be late to breakfast.”

“Okay." Garchomp lugs behind her, still smacking its lips in post-sleep trance. As Cynthia approaches the man, she notices that he’s looking down on her. It shouldn’t bother her that he’s taller, but at that moment, it does.

Cyrus regards her coolly with his eyes before turning around, hands still clasped behind his back. Now that he removed the bandages, she can the faint but swollen, jagged scars of what appears to be a bite wound. Garchomp shrinks back at her disappointed glare. She’ll have to apologize later on the behalf of her Pokemon.

* * *

“Good morning, Master Cyrus.”

“Here are the documents you’ve requested, Sir.”

“Are you thirsty, Boss?”

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

People with identical blue haircuts and similar uniform greet him left and right. He responds with a curt nod or grunt but never lingering long enough to hold a conversation. She notices that Cyrus’s uniform is different from the others, but they have that odd space cadet theme in common.

“ _Master_ Cyrus?” she whispers in disbelief. _Something feels… wrong._

“Don’t call me that."

“So what is it then? Just ‘Cyrus?’” Her voice is dipping into disbelief. The corners of his lips lift ever so slightly that it could’ve been a smile. She blinks and rubs her eyes, but the smile in question is long gone. 

“Boss, current energy reports.”

“Thank you.” Cynthia glances over his shoulder.

“Galactic Corporation? Sounds like an evil cult.” _With the matching hairstyles and weird uniform,_ she leaves that unsaid.

Cyrus’s frown is stiff. Garchomp fidgets.

As Cyrus leads her down into a large hall, Cynthia can’t help but feel daggers carving into her back. The Grunts are glaring at her with unusual hostility. When she dares match their gaze, they quickly turn away. She begins to call Cyrus but slowly decides against it.

_Probably just nerves…_

The Grunt working the counter perks up as Cyrus nears. “Oh! Master Cyrus! Why are you here?”

Cyrus angles his head sharply. “I can’t be here?”

“Eep! N-no, Sir. I-It’s just that we don’t see you eat at all, much less breakfast. And… well…” The Grunt begins to sweat under Cyrus’s piercing glare. “We’re worried. About you,” she squeaks.

“I appreciate your concern, R-8, but you need to worry about yourself first.” His face is deadpan.

Then he turns to Cynthia, who’s still gaping. “We also have non-dairy options.”

“O-oh. Thank you.” Cynthia suddenly remembers that she _cannot_ drink Moomoo Milk. Cannot even _handle_ it. She looks over the options. Garchomp whines, so she orders some food for it too. The Grunt silently completes her order, her eyes sometimes flitting to Cyrus.

“Enjoy.” Her voice is tight. Cyrus tilts his chin for Cynthia to follow. The Grunts clear a path when their leader approaches, but Cynthia can’t release the thought of her also repulsing them away by her presence.

Cynthia reluctantly sits down at an empty table. Cyrus remains standing in that stance of his, eyes completely unreadable. Garchomp noisily chomps on its food without paying the humans any mind.

“Is the food not to your preference?” he grunts when she clicks her chopsticks mindlessly.

“Um…” Garchomp raises a brow at Cyrus. His expression doesn’t change, but some light of recognition hits his eyes. He turns away.

“Wait. Cyrus.” That single word causes half the room to drop whatever they’re doing and stare at her. Meanwhile, Cyrus turns, nonplussed.

“I am making you uncomfortable.” He states it with such finality that it could’ve been the truth.

A heavy sense of doom clutches Cynthia’s stomach. _If I tell Cyrus that I'm not hungry, he’ll yank the truth out of me in that passive intimidation of his._ _If I tell the truth and point fingers, he’ll be angry at me for accusing his subordinates_. She already knows the grunts hate her. She just doesn’t know _why._

“I don’t like to eat alone,” she finally says. _Hey, it’s not a lie._ Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see the Grunts gaping in shock. Cyrus’s brow furrows. “Do you mind sitting with me?” The same look of concentration crosses his face again as if he’s profiling her. She can see the incredibly complex calculation unraveling in his brain.

Then finally, after a long, painful silence, he takes the seat opposite of her. His approximate presence relaxes her somewhat.

Cyrus analyzes the look on her face and turns his head to the gawking Grunts. “Yes?” Uttered sharp like an ice shard. If you search for him in a sea of bowl-cuts, you’ll know him from his authoritative timber. The Grunts release one big collective gasp, and soon the room explodes into mindless chatter once again.

“I think they hate me,” Cynthia mutters, absently stroking Garchomp’s head.

Cyrus doesn’t reply. He looks like he’s jotting a mental note. “The food is getting cold.”

“Oh.” Cynthia looks at him for a bit and begins to eat. He simply stares at her with those eyes.

“The food’s better than yesterday,” she says in a pathetic attempt of small talk. It feels weird, somehow, eating in his company. It’s a weirdness that reaches even her visceral organs.

A weirdness that feels more like a longing. 

Cyrus looks a bit disappointed. Like yesterday, when she complained about the saltiness of the soup. “How?”

“This soup tastes just right. Not too salty.” Cynthia’s certain that she offended him somehow. _Maybe he… prefers stronger flavors?_ “But Garchomp here loved the Poffins.”

“Ah.”

Cynthia drops her attention to the food again. After a while she returns to his face.

“Did you eat yet?”

Cyrus shrugs slightly. “I can sustain myself.”

“You look so thin that you can snap any minute,” she huffs, handing him the orange that was meant for Garchomp. The dragon pouts but doesn’t put up an argument.

Cyrus stares at the orange like it just sprouted wings. Then the corners of his lips tug again, and her chest tightens. Cynthia has the sudden compulsion to make him smile, but reason escapes her.

“I am fine,” he says. “My top priority is your current condition.”

Cynthia detects the finality in his tone and resigns her efforts to make him act like a normal person. She continues eating, but the silence becomes awkward again.

"So what do you usually eat, Cyrus?"

"Food."

_Come on, dude._ "I-I know. But what types of food?"

"Coffee," he says to his hands. 

_I'm surprised that you even eat._ "That's not real food, Cyrus."

"So I've been told."

Another impasse is reached. He's staring at anything but her. She's clanking the spoon to her empty bowl.

“So what is all this?” She waves the air. “This Galactic Corporation business. Is the space uniform a theme?”

He straightens. “Yes. This is the Veilstone Headquarters for the Galactic Corporation.” His tone is official-sounding as if he’s conducting professional overview of the company. “Our full name is the Cosmic Energy Development Corporation. Our mission involves researching alternative energy for a better world. We also manufacture complex machinery and goods, so far as to invest in commercials.” He pinches his temples. “And yes, the uniform is necessary to foster greater chemistry within departments.”

Cynthia rests her chin on her palm. “And you’re the boss.”

“Yes…”

“That’s amazing!” She's nodding as he speaks. “You’re already head of a large corporation, and it's not your 28th birthday yet!”

With that sentence, Cyrus flinches ever so slightly. He looks a bit startled at her comment. Disturbed, for lack of a better word. Wary.

“How are your memories faring?” he says quietly.

Cynthia smiles, oblivious to his reaction. “I’m starting to remember some things. You’re right, I just need some time to sort it all out. For example, Garchomp here isn’t my only Pokemon.” The land dragon snorts. “I have a Togekiss. A Milotic. A Lucario… I remember traveling the world with my Pokemon when I was very young.”

Cyrus listens silently as she recounts the memories that came to her. Her youngers days are still blurry, but she can accurately recount her Pokemon Trainer days with the hint that she had accomplished something much greater in the future. When she mentions her hazy recollections of the mysterious boy from her childhood, though, Cyrus’s brow twitches. It’s the only break of expression he displays after listening to her story without interruption.

“Cyrus?”

"Yes?"

“Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me, yet…” She can’t read his expression. He merely tilts his head in that way of his, his lips set in a tight line. He then drops his gaze and stands. Garchomp lifts its head, curious.

“If you had lost your memory, wouldn’t _you_ want to remember everything that was precious to you?” Cyrus turns with a marginal glance. “If you’re done, then please follow me.”

Cynthia puts away her tray. “Where are we going?” Garchomp whines but keeps up with her pace.

“I will show you around Headquarters,” he says without turning back.

As soon as they set foot outside the mess hall, another spaceman hurries to Cyrus. This one is dressed differently than the other grunts. His eyes are sharp like the cat-ear-like tails of his hair.

“Master Cyrus!” Oh. So that voice from yesterday night belonged to _him._

“Commander Saturn.”

Cynthia peeks from behind his back. “H-hello. I’m Cynthia.” She extends her hand.

“I know who you are,” Saturn snaps. Cynthia quickly jerks back her hand.

“Commander Saturn.” Cyrus’s voice is cold. “She is a guest. Treat her with common courtesy.”

“But, Boss! She’s –”

“ _Commander Saturn._ ” Even Cynthia flinches. Saturn winces, his eyes wide as Cyrus looms over the younger man like a dark shadow.

“Y-yes, Boss.” Saturn’s voice is small. He seizes Cynthia’s hand in a vice grip and shakes it stiffly. Cynthia gives him a weak smile and massages her wrist behind her back.

“Do you have something to report, Commander?” Cyrus says.

“Yes, Master Cyrus. It’s the results of the expedition. We were successful.” His face breaks into a proud, toothy grin.

“Good work, Commander. I expected nothing less.” Cyrus’s blank expression never changes, but his tone is warmer. Just a little.

Saturn’s face beams with pride. He bows slightly. While his boss isn’t looking, his grin sours into a scowl that he shoots in Cynthia’s direction. Then Saturn straightens and leaves.

“Let us continue,” Cyrus says. Cynthia sandwiches herself between his back and Garchomp to fend off the trepidation that gnaws at her heart.

The rooms blur together, and together with his monotone voice, Cynthia has given up paying attention a long time ago. His lips flap and flap until her brain picks up those two words.

“Nap Room?”

Cyrus blinks. “Yes. As the name implies, we have a Galactic Nap Room.” The beds are rocket-themed. Even the wallpaper is speckled with various constellations. Someone even painted a mini solar system with all the planets (excluding Pluto) labeled.

_And everyone's an adult here, surprisingly._

“Master Cyrus!” Another differently-dressed space cadet approaches. Her eyes match her fiery red hair.

“Commander Mars.”

“Boss, how'da sleep last night? Was it comfy? I hoped the Grunts cleaned up after themselves, because last time…" She chuckles dangerously. "Oooh, last time we had to fumigate the whole room, and—"

“It is fine,” Cyrus says briskly. Cynthia pokes out her head. This woman appears to be a bit younger than Saturn… and she's probably much younger than she looks.

“I like your dress,” Cynthia says weakly. “I’m Cynthia.”

The woman cocks her head. Cyrus casually clears his throat. “I’m Commander Mars,” she says, not meeting Cynthia’s gaze. She doesn’t even extend her hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

Cynthia forces a smile.

“Are you using the Nap Room, Commander Mars?” To the women’s relief, Cyrus breaks the tension that threaten to explode if left untreated. “I apologize for the disruption.”

“Nope! I just came to check if you were still alive.” Mars claps her hands, and her face blossoms into a grin. “The room’s not meant for overnight sleep, so it can be chilly at night. Wouldn't want a human popsicle in the morning, no sir.”

Cyrus measures the room with his eyes. “It is fine,” he says. “I'll have a radiator installed soon. Continue with your work, Commander.”

Mars purses her lips. “Okay. But… if anything happens, let me know, Boss.” Cyrus nods. Mars bows. She glances at Cynthia, her hair shielding her eyes. “Um… bye.”

“Bye,” Cynthia mutters. Her throat is uncomfortably dry, and it’s not from the air conditioning.

“What is it? Are you tired?”

Cynthia crosses her arms. “You let me have your room, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Her scowl deepens while his eyebrows lift. “I assumed you would feel more comfortable without the presence of my subordinates.”

Cynthia gasps. “Wow. So you’re not that clueless after all.” She doesn’t mean that as an insult, but his nonexistent reaction is impossible to diagnose if he _did_ get offended or not. _Note to self: don’t underestimate Cyrus. He will read your mind._

“You will continue to use that room in the duration of your time here—at least, until you’ve regained sufficient memory,” he declares. She opens her mouth to argue, but he silences her with a glare. “I will talk to my subordinates and Commanders to make sure this matter of maltreatment will not repeat itself.”

A huge weight lifts from Cynthia’s heart. “Don’t think I’ve overlooked the situation at breakfast, either.” He begins walking out of the room. “Although, it would be mutually beneficial if you would tell me your concerns instead of keeping them to yourself.”

Cynthia numbly nudges Garchomp along. “Sure,” she whispers.

“Cyrus?” He grunts to show that he’s listening. “Seriously. Why are you so nice to me? Have we met before?”

Cyrus slows his pace slightly. “I’ve told you already,” he says to the air. “You’ll waste breath if you continue living in a haze. Wasted energy is undesirable and unproductive.”

Cynthia has no idea what he means. But deep in her heart, she knows that he’s hiding something. She just isn’t sure if the secret is something she should know.

* * *

After lunch, another official asks Cyrus to come look at some reports.

“You should come too,” Cyrus says to Cynthia.

The official is an older woman, probably older than Cyrus. Her eyes are guarded, yet when she smiles, Cynthia feels her apprehension fade away. “Good afternoon, Cynthia. I see you’re awake now. How was lunch?” Her tone is neutral, yet Cynthia feels gravitated to this woman. “I’m Commander Jupiter, by the way.”

“H-hello, Commander.” Jupiter’s hand is well-moisturized. Cynthia feels a brief connection with the Galactic Commander, but a strange, cold feeling in her mind is screaming against it. She can’t place it, and the sensation quietly fades away.

If Cyrus is pleased, he doesn’t show it. “Stellar reports, Commander.” He never breaks monotone as his eyes rake through the reports.

“Of course, Cyrus. Now, we just need a way to measure the amount of energy. After that, we can go about capturing…”

The news is playing in the background. One of the Grunts turns up the volume.

“And now back to our breaking news: officials have confirmed that time has indeed stopped in the region of Treeshroud Forest. Authorities are in investigating, but so far no comments are being released. We go live on the scene…”

Cynthia’s blood runs cold. _What? What did they say? Time stopped? As in, hours and minutes?_ The room had gone silent. Everyone is staring at her like she’s the unwanted third twin.

The news continues by panning a shot of the mentioned Treeshroud forest beyond the police tape.

And to her horror, time had indeed stood still. A barren plain where the grass remains in mid-swing. The stream where water cease to flow, and the tiny droplets that splatter to the rocks are suspended in the air. She can see the exact moment where the droplet would’ve popped. It’s as if the forest took one last breath and froze altogether.

Cynthia jerks her attention to Cyrus, as if expecting him to tell her otherwise. He and his emotionless, scientific babble should surely dismiss this thing as a publicity stunt. Unreasonable panic rises in her throat.

Instead, he just tilts his head. 

Cynthia grabs the remote from the Grunt and flips the channel. The same scene of the still forest is played throughout all the major news network. Credible, reputable news outlet all covering the moment that time stopped.

Her skull is pounding. Her repressed memories are fighting back against its lock, warning her. Pulling her back from the threshold of darkness.

Cynthia whirls back to Cyrus. “That’s… not possible, right? Cyrus, time doesn’t… time doesn’t stop like that.”

His expression is unreadable. “It is possible,” he says at last, and this time, something much more terrifying glints in his icy eyes.


	3. The Lore of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia learns about Time Gears. Meanwhile, Cyrus is thinking too much.

After today’s revelations, nighttime feels especially threatening. Cynthia can’t shake off the paranoia of impending doom. She also can’t explain why her nerves are on edge, as if someone might stab her in the back when she gets too comfortable.

“Are you still troubled?” Cyrus maintains a respectful distance between the two of them.

Cynthia sits up. “I just can’t shake the feeling that my memory is connected to the whole time incident.” The mere mention of time stopping is enough to get her heart racing. A weird mix of euphoria and fear also settles in her gut. That was enough proof to draw an association.

Cyrus’s eye twitches, but he remains silent. Not long ago, she’d seen a horrifying shadow pass his face. That mad glint in his eyes… it scared her then, and it scares her now.

Garchomp is snoring again. Cynthia keeps her hand on its head and tries to think about everything, _anything_ else. _No use pretending it didn’t happen._ Her heart eventually calms with Garchomp’s steady breathing, but that image is still seared into her retinas.

Cyrus still hasn’t spoken. Cynthia buries her head into her pillow.

“Do you want to hear a story?” She looks up in disbelief. Cyrus remains as stoic as ever. _What did you say, Cyrus_? _You, the master of small talk, offering to take initiative to start a conversation?_

“Sure,” she mutters. The corners of his lips tug slightly. _There._ That’s what she wants to see. Not that smirk from earlier.

“One of Sinnoh’s most intriguing myths surround the enigma of time,” he begins. “How did this modern concept of ‘time’ come to be? Have we, as humans, captured its essence by standardizing it into minutes and seconds? Or—” He cuts himself short and casts a furtive glance at Cynthia, who nods to show that she was listening. He sees through her though.

“Nevertheless, in Sinnoh, the flow of time is governed through peculiar objects known as Time Gears.”

Cynthia’s heart suddenly races again. “The news mentioned them earlier. They suspected that time stopped because… because a Time Gear has been removed from its original position. They sound really familiar too…"

“Ah. In any case, you are correct. Time Gears exist to keep the flow of time in balance. Though _how_ such things came to be… It’s still an enigma to me.” He pursues his lips. “Anyhow, because of their crucial function, Time Gears are hidden far away from Pokemon and human alike.”

Cynthia leans forward, and Cyrus backs up ever so slightly until he hits the door. “Secret places? Like what?” The appeal of lore and treasure fascinates her. She remembers the rush of euphoria at chasing after the rainbow as a child when her grandma told of a mythical rainbow Pokemon that could grant any wish.

Cyrus regards her with a strange look… a look that makes her oddly nostalgic. “In your travels, have you noticed something that looked a bit _too_ inconspicuous? Records tell of Time Gears resting in the most obscure of places, yet often in the most overlooked. It is possible to find such objects guarded in… in an underground lake, say. I wouldn’t rule out the bottom of the ocean… nor the heart of a volcano… nor the relics of an ancient civilization.”

Cynthia’s smile fades. “If Time Gears are so carefully hidden, then how did the one in Treeshroud Forest disappear?” She looks at Cyrus. “If it’s gone… then time stops, right?”

“Not… specifically.” His tone becomes guarded again, and he’s looking out the window. “Time in that region will stop.” He trails off when Cynthia clicks her teeth.

“What kind of scum would even steal a Time Gear? I’ll never forgive that heartless bastard.”

Cyrus’s eye twitches. When he speaks again, his voice is deliberately harsh. “Why would you say it was stolen?”

“There’s no way a Time Gear would disappear like that, especially if it’s kept balance after all these centuries. Wouldn’t it make sense to you, of all people?” Cynthia puts her head on her knees and thinks.

“Hey, Cyrus.”

“Yes?” His words are crisper than usual.

“What do you think will happen if all the Time Gears are gone?”

Cyrus blinks for a little too long. “The Planet’s Paralysis, where time will stop completely. Existence will halt. Strife, conflict, and pain will cease to be.” _There it is again. That shadow of madness swelling as a twisted, dreamlike fascination dawns into his eyes._ ““All those vacuous sentimentality, all those wretched, burdensome things that compose the incomplete spirit… gone. And no one… no one will ever have to suffer again.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. It’s as if he’s seeing something impossibly beautiful and horrifying the distance. “What a perfect, complete world it will be...”

“Stop it, Cyrus.” Her voice slices like a hot knife over butter, shattering the glazed veil over his eyes. Cyrus recoils at her tone. Cynthia's shaking her head. “Stop talking like that. Please… stop snap out of it.” She drops her voice. “You’re scaring me.”

Cyrus blinks. He blinks again, as if his brain had suddenly stopped functioning.

Cynthia hugs her knees tighter, and she looks away. She isn’t aware that Cyrus’s perfect mask had cracked, and that the crack is permanent. All she wanted was for that madness to disappear, for him to return to the calm, collected

_hurting_

man that she woke up to know. Seeing him act like that wedges a heavy thorn into her heart. This particular fear is deeply unsettling. It even bothers her more than her memory loss.

“ _I don’t want to lose him again.”_

_Whose voice does that belong to?_

Cynthia had never seen his expression on Cyrus. This realization is etched into something deeper her current memories. She never thought that he was capable of even _expressing_ such an emotion. Now she’s even more confused… now a lot of things aren’t adding up.

The pain in her head explodes. Her chest feels like lead.

Cyrus starts forward with his hand outstretched. He steps to her bed and immediately recoils, as if he’d stepped on hallowed grounds. That emotion intensifies. Cynthia almost sees panic rising from the cracks in his mask.

“Cyrus?” she whispers. He turns away. His shoulders heave as he takes another deep, painful breath. He keeps his fingers on his temples and remains in a state of silence for who knows how long.

“I apologize.” When Cyrus finally speaks, he is back to monotone. “I have inconvenienced you.” His back is still to her. “Please get some rest.”

“Good night, Cyrus,” Cynthia breathes before he leaves. She never expects a reply until the impossible happens.

“Good night. Cynthia.”

The words are so soft that she almost misses it over the pounding of her heart.

* * *

The Galactic grunts are whispering amongst themselves. When the Commanders enter the hall, the room explodes into voices.

“Commander, what is Master Cyrus thinking, calling a meeting in the middle of the night?”

“He was mad at us today. We need to hide!”

“My wife promised me something good tonight!”

“Has the boss finally snapped?!”

“Gosh, I wish he would sleep already.”

“Everyone, shut up!” Saturn growls.

“We don’t know why he called the meeting, either.” Mars holds up her hands to calm the crowd and sticks her tongue out at Saturn. She flicks the nightcap poof from her face. “Wait! Don’t block the fire exits!"

Jupiter’s hair is still tucked in a towel. “What a pain,” she sighs. “He really needs to act like a normal human being for once, that boy.”

When the Boss enters the room, activity grinds to a complete stop and all noise dies like the first impression of a forest fire. Cyrus stands in the front, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight and authoritative. His chin is lifted slightly, and the shadows under his eyes seem to have grown.

“I appreciate you all for coming,” he begins in a cold monotone. “I will not hold you for long. However, it has come to my attention that a majority of you hold ill sentimentality towards Miss Cynthia.

No one dares speak. Cyrus rakes his gaze over the crowd, and the unfortunate chump who locks eyes with him flinches like a Magikarp getting kicked around for not evolving in time.

“Need I remind you that she is an important guest. And as common social practices go, I expect a decent amount of hospitality towards my guests. No one should be denied fairness, and no one should be made to feel unwelcomed.” He pauses. The room stares back, transfixed with fear and shock. "You're all aware of Company Policy, I presume?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

“Good. If you have any particular concerns, bring them to me. Until then, I expect to _never_ see a repeat of this morning’s events. If so, there will be disciplinary measures.” No one dares look away. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir!”

Cyrus nods. “Good. You are dismissed.” As the Grunts flutter out of the room, some going home while for others, home is the headquarters, Cyrus approaches his Commanders. They inwardly wince at his heavy presence.

“Commanders. A word.” Saturn, Mars, and Jupiter exchange glances. They also pass a silent emergency plan if things go awry.

* * *

The Nap Room is indeed chilly in the night. Jupiter had removed the towel from her head and is using it as a blanket instead. Mars keeps fidgeting with her Clefairy plush, occasionally sending Saturn odd stares at his galaxy-print pajamas.

Cyrus sets down his reading glasses. “Commander Mars and Saturn. I am most disappointed in your behavior earlier today.”

Mars wrings her hands. “S-sorry, Boss. It just felt wrong to pretend that nothing happened between us and her…”

“There will be situations where you have to make do, Commander Mars. Nothing is ever easy.”

Saturn’s nostrils flare. “I know that! But… I just don’t get why you’re so nice to her, Boss. She’s our enemy! She almost roasted you with her Pokemon!”

Cyrus raises an icy brow. “That was a mere flesh wound. What are you implying, Commander Saturn?”

Saturn flinches at the barbed words. "W-What do you mean, a mere flesh wound? There was bone and—" Cyrus's glare is oh so cold. Saturn forcibly steadies himself. “M-Master Cyrus. The Grunts told me that you had breakfast with her.”

“And? Does that bother you, Saturn?” Cyrus’s face is still frustratingly blank.

Saturn hesitates. Jupiter steps in. “Yes, it does, Cyrus. We have to _force_ you to eat, and sometimes it doesn’t work. But on her first day, she managed to get you to sit down for once.”

“She _charmed_ you,” Mars mutters.

Cyrus tilts his head. His Commanders step back, but instead of a much-feared scolding, Cyrus simply looks annoyed. “Is that all? That’s what been weighing on your minds this entire time? Cynthia isn’t used to this environment. I need her to maintain proper nutrition if she plans to get her memories back.”

_“I don’t want to eat by myself,”_ Cynthia had said.

“I still don’t get it,” Saturn huffs. “Why do you care so much for her? It’s not like you two were friends!” 

“Watch your tongue, Saturn.” Cyrus’s expression is… odd. Saturn doesn’t quite know what to make of it. Heck, none of the Commanders know how to decipher that expression.

“I am curious.” His back is turned, his head tilted to the starless sky. “I want to observe the human condition in response to loss of memory.” When did his words sound so… _hollow?_ Cyrus clears his throat. _Perhaps Mars was right, and I had developed a cold from insufficient warmth._

_If the past still mattered…_

“Boss?” Mars whispers, a clear, solid voice cutting through his haze of thoughts. Cyrus shifts his attention from the moon back to earth.

“I also have reason to believe that foul play is associated with her memory loss.” _It sounds fine now._

Jupiter frowns. “So it was an intentional accident?”

“She’s really good at pretending,” Saturn grumbles.

Cyrus turns. “I don’t think that’s the case, Commander Saturn. Nothing in her behavior has pointed to her falsifying the condition.” His voice wavers slightly, too faint for anyone to catch. “She is slowly, yet surely, regaining her memories. It would be mutually beneficial if she recalls the events leading to the incident.”

“But!” Mars thrusts her hands angrily. “What happens if she remembers everything and tells the police, Boss?” Cyrus had anticipated this question. He even prepared an appropriate answer. However, he didn’t account for this sudden stall in his thoughts.

“I think she’ll want to handle it herself instead of relying on anyone for help.” Cyrus’s voice doesn’t reach his ears. _Mars is right: the room is cold, and this coldness is making me unreasonably sentimental. How pathetic._

Then he shakes his head. “Commander Jupiter, I have reason to believe that sabotage was involved. Her injuries are not consistent with a fall… but a Pokemon attack. It was too clean to be a wild encounter.” When had he started gripping at his hands? His knuckles are stiff, too. “Dare I say it could’ve been an inside job.”

Saturn’s eyes narrow. “You’re saying that someone she knows _intentionally_ hurt her? That’s… crazy.”

“That is still conjecture. However, it is also possible that her attacker is connected to the recent spike in crime.” Still, some part of his mind isn’t registering his words. He isn’t usually this dismissive of raw, hard evidence. No. It’s as if he _refuses_ to believe that the evidence could support his theory. “The evidence, however, is pointing otherwise. I’ll have to look more into it.”

The Commanders are silent. Cyrus rubs his temples as another headache looms in the distance. “Any news of Charon’s whereabouts?” he mutters.

“N-no, Boss,” Jupiter says. “He dropped off the radar.”

“Knowing him, he’s probably hiding somewhere, ready to take over when the Boss isn’t looking.” Mars frowns. “But we won’t let that happen. We’ll protect you, Boss.” Cyrus’s lips twitch. It’s still an enigma as to why his facial muscles would tug in response to certain stimuli, most notably specific words or behaviors. It’s also a mystery as to why his mind would feel much lighter after that.

Saturn huffs, “You know that’s right, Boss. So…” He rubs his hands excitedly. “Where are we going next?”

Cyrus rubs his eyes. “No, Commander. We’ll draw more attention to ourselves if we act hastily. It’s only a matter of time before they realize that the Time Gear was st—taken.”

_“What kind of scum would even steal a Time Gear? I’ll never forgive that heartless bastard!”_

Mars suddenly snorts. Saturn elbows her in the stomach while holding back a laughter of his own, and Mars retaliates by pinching his arm—hard. He squeals. Jupiter sighs. “Why are you laughing?” Cyrus asks with all the seriousness in the world.

“Boss, you’re hilarious,” Mars whistles. “Slipping a pun like that.”

Cyrus blinks. “Oh. I see… Thank you, I suppose.” That causes the younger Commanders to start howling. Jupiter smacks their heads, but her grin is stretched unnaturally wide.

“Anyhow,” Cyrus continues, brow furrowed. “I have yet to locate the next Time Gear. Until then, I want all of you to keep a low profile and continue with your work.”

Jupiter flashes him a crooked grin. “It’s still strange to see how _time_ can actually stop if we remove one tiny sprocket. I guess those myths of yours were true after all, Cyrus." 

Cynthia’s words flash into his mind. Her face. Her voice. Her panic. Cyrus instinctively grips his chest.

“We’re almost close to changing the world.” Saturn closes his eyes. “Still, I can’t believe something so small can do something so _violent._ ”

 _Yes. We’re almost close to my perfect world._ Yet again, when has those words become so _empty_?

Jupiter puts a strong hand on the younger Commanders’ shoulders. “Come on children. Let’s leave the Boss alone so he can get some sleep.”

“I am not tired, Commander.”

Jupiter rolls her eyes. “And I’m still married. Come on, Cyrus. You’ve been looking into Cynthia’s case for days now. She's not realizing the effort you're putting for her… I just don't think she appreciates you enough."

Cyrus frowns. “There's no reason for Cynthia to appreciate me. I'm just investigating an incident.”

Jupiter laughs rather too loudly. “Oh, Cyrus. Okay bye. I’ll be taking these two. Good night, _Master Cyrus!”_ And before Mars or Saturn can get the last word in, Jupiter speeds out of the room, leaving her boss alone in his thoughts.

Cyrus stares at the spot where they’ve been not two seconds ago. He then turns off the computer and lights.

_“Your name is Cyrus, right? As in the sun.”_

He’d never been the one to believe in coincidence. An event with abysmally low chances of occurring is still probable, never impossible. But for her to say the exact thing as all those years ago… with the exact look on her face… and for him to feel the same way as if nothing had changed… is it still wise to dismiss that moment as mere coincidence?

 _No._ He had burned the bridge to his past long ago. Burned it, trashed it, and never looked back. There was nothing precious to salvage there anyways.

The present Cynthia would never drop her guard around him. She would never give him such a warm smile, as if greeting a dear old friend. That’s how he knew that her memory loss was genuine, and that something undesirable _did_ happen to her, and that calling it an accident is desecrating her memory.

_If the past still mattered…_

No. That kindness was not reserved for him. That kindness _never_ belonged to him in the first place.

Cyrus stares into the familiar darkness. Just how much _has_ she remembered? How much _will_ she continue to remember? He’s prepared his responses if she questions him about her past—

“— _There was a boy in my memories. We met at the beach, during the long days of summer. I remember coming back to talk to him for years after… But it’s a shame I don’t remember his face.”_

 _Maybe Jupiter is right._ He’s becoming delusional due to the lack of sleep. All this vacuous sentimentality is a result of adenosine buildup in his brain. Hopefully with some rest, he can abolish this uncanny rhythm of his heart.


	4. The Beach at Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus takes Cynthia to the beach. Cynthia reflects on her childhood memories.

Almost every channel is covering the developments on Treeshroud Forest’s missing Time Gear. However, since authorities are tight-lipped on the investigation, people’s interest fade over time and life pretty much returns to normal.

“Are you enjoying the food, Miss Cynthia?”

Cynthia almost drops her fork. The Grunts exchange panic between themselves. She hears them whispering along the lines of: “You’re scaring her, dork!” “Let me handle this!” “You’re even worse at making small talk than Master Cyrus!”

Cynthia clears her throat, and the Grunts stop arguing immediately. Then the Grunt with the biggest ass she'd ever seen slides into her seat as smoothly as a Numel treading water. “Heya, Miss Cynthia,” he purrs as sweetly as a year-old molasses. “Today’s special fish stew is certainly _off the hook_ , huh?”

The female Grunt slaps him in the head. “Idiot!” she snaps. She pushes him off the chair. “Ignore this fool. His _crabby_ puns just _sink_ your appetite.”

Cynthia snorts. More grunts congregate near her space and contribute their own cringeworthy greetings. She lets her self be humored at their pathetic, yet adorable attempt at small-talk.

It doesn’t end there. The grunts are being unusually friendly and talkative for the last few days. Although the conversation might be awkward sometimes, it feels as if a suffocating fog had been lifted from the Team Galactic Headquarters. Cynthia feels a rush of warmth, and dare she say, the sweet feeling of home?

* * *

While the Grunts are more receptive, the Commanders are much more difficult to open up to. Jupiter remains neutral and polite as if Cynthia was her old acquaintance. Mars and Saturn, however, seem to be avoiding her at every possible chance.

“Did something happen?” Cynthia asks the big-butt Grunt one day. She knows she’ll get nothing from the Commanders.

“Master Cyrus threate—” And he doubles over when his friend kicks him in the stomach. From little interactions around the Headquarters, Cynthia can piece the flimsy story about Cyrus threating his team over something, and that resulted in the unusually friendly atmosphere.

Still, deep in her heart, she knows that a majority of the Grunts are genuinely kind and curious about her person.

* * *

Cyrus is always busy. One moment she sees his head of light hair streaking around the generator, and the next minute he’s disassembling an electronic door with Saturn looking over him. Surprisingly, Cyrus still joins her for breakfast (although he never talks or eats), and disappears as soon as she’s done. He’s always there to check up on her progress at night. She can almost recount all his mythical tales verbatim.

Cynthia grows to find Cyrus extremely intriguing, even though he operates much like a robot. She makes it her personal mission to pry as much information as possible about him like his hobbies, his music tastes, his favorite food…

To say that she succeeded is a major overstatement.

Cynthia also occasionally drops by his office to escape the monotony of grunts. Cyrus always greets her with the same monotone, but he never explicitly tells her to leave.

His desk is immaculate and contains only the bare necessities. That’s why when she sees the photograph, she had to ask, “When is that taken?” The photograph shows a younger Cyrus with a woman and two children. She can tell it was Cyrus because… because she just _can,_ and no explanation can support her reasoning. The woman looks oddly familiar, though, as do the two kids. They’re standing outside a park of some sort… His family, maybe? But everyone is too mismatched to be actually related…

“It’s nothing impo—” Cyrus pauses, then goes back to his work as if nothing had happened. His glasses glare out his eyes. “It’s just a piece of paper.” His tone suggests indifference, but the well-kept and pristine condition of the photo tells a different story.

His terseness eventually sparks another forbidden question: _What was his life before Team Galactic?_ Cynthia cannot recall if she had asked this question before.

Sometimes Cynthia would glimpse the Pokemon in his office. Crobat can often be found perched on his shoulder, peering at him like a mother would to her child. Sometimes, his Weaville will sit there, yawn, and steal his stuff. He'd chase it around and deliver a stern berating that renders the cat into a shame-faced child. Other times, his giant Honchkrow will nest on his head, and if Crobat is around, the crow will show off its well-groomed fedora.

Cynthia brings Garchomp in to fraternize with his Pokemon. And surprisingly enough, Crobat and Honchkrow will interact with Garchomp as if… as if they were old friends. Weavile remains more cautious, but it eventually caves in.

* * *

Cynthia’s memories are making a strong resurgence. She remembers her hometown—Celestic Town. She remembers fighting through the Sinnoh League and eventually rising to become Champion. She can recall her friends and allies and enemies.

And for some reason, Team Galactic always raises a red flag in her mind. She tells Cyrus that his name is familiar, that she’d encounter Team Galactic once before but never goes to more specific details.

"I see." And that's all he says.

Of course, the events leading to the whole memory loss in the first place remains at an impasse. Cynthia tells him about this uncanny phenomenon. Cyrus suggests that it might be a Pokemon’s doing, an extremely powerful Pokemon that can block memories.

“You were unconscious outside Foggy Forest,” Cyrus says. “I will look into the fauna of that location. Can you recall why it is that you were there?”

The words are slow, but steady. “I was looking for something. I’m sure that I was looking for something very important…”

* * *

Then one day, Cynthia attempts to sneak out of Headquarters, only to be stopped by Grunts (who are surprisingly not slacking off today).

“Woah, Miss Cynthia! You can’t leave the building! Boss gave us specific orders not to let you out.”

“Why?” She gives them a well-intended pout, and the Grunts hesitate. “I’m not a child. I’m the damn Champion of Sinnoh.”

“We know, but…”

“What is the problem here?” Cynthia knows that voice before she even needs to turn. The guards straighten like Ratatta in the face of a Seviper.

“We tried to stop her from leaving, Master Cyrus.”

Cyrus tilts his head. “Oh? Why do you want to leave, Miss Cynthia?”

“I’m bored.” She crosses her arms. “I remember places, but I want to _see_ them too. Staying cooped up in here makes me feel like I’m wasting time.” Then she adds in a ridiculous impression of his monotone: “And wasted time is undesirable.” The grunts snicker. Cyrus glares at the three of them, and their smirks fall right away.

“Very well,” Cyrus grunts. “But allow me to accompany you just this once.”

Cynthia grins devilishly. “Aw. Are you worried about me, Cyrus?”

Cyrus looks at her. “You have yet to orient yourself with the land,” he says flatly. “You will get lost. Veilstone is a big city.”

Cynthia’s grin spreads to her eyes. The Grunts nudge her with like-minded sentiment. “You know, Cyrus,” she says. “Even if you don’t show much emotion, I still believe that deep down, you’re actually a very nice person.”

Cyrus blinks. Cynthia flashes another radiant smile. He blinks again, and she can see the circuits of his brain re-wiring themselves. It’s also possible that he’d short-circuited, if he was a machine.

“I will be back,” Cyrus finally mutters, his gaze pasted on the floor. As the CEO stiffly walks away, Cynthia exchanges fist-bumps with the grunts.

* * *

When Cyrus returns, Cynthia almost doesn’t recognize him. Nothing changed about his face or his hair – he was just naturally well-groomed – but the thought of him in a suit was too wild to imagine. Until she sees it in person, that is.

The guards behind her back turn bright red, and the male Grunt is struggling to contain his fanboyish gibberish.

“What is it?” Cyrus says, deadpan after no one speaks for a good minute. He glances down at his tie and fiddles with his vest. “Is it crooked?”

“Nnnnnnnooooooo, Sir,” the female Grunt stammers. “Y-y-y-you look f-f-f-f-fiinnnee. _Really fine._ ” Her companion just bobs his head erratically, a high whistling sound escaping through his teeth like a boiling kettle.

Cyrus frowns. “Your faces are flushed. Are you running spontaneous fevers? Finish your shift and take the rest of the day off.” He hesitates before handing a tissue to the female Grunt. “Take care of your nose.”

“Yesshhhh, Bossshh…”

Cyrus turns his attention back to Cynthia. “Erm. Excuse me.”

Cynthia blinks hard. “You look different,” she manages to squeeze out some words.

“Oh.” His long fingers dance across his buttons. “I do keep some suits in case I need to handle negotiations. However, if it’s making you uncomfortable—”

“No,” Cynthia squeaks. He frowns. "No. You’re good. It’s fine. It’s okay.” She purses her lips and drops her eyes to his leather boots. _Wow. Right down to the dress shoes, too, this nerd._

“Good.” He still sounds unconvinced. “Now, Commander Jupiter was considerate enough to lend her hat.” He presents her a blue-ribboned sun bonnet. Cynthia decides right then and there that she’ll never think of him the same way again.

“Thanks.” She puts it on. The brim is very big and blocks everything from his neck up. “How does it look?”

When Cyrus doesn’t answer right away, Cynthia checks on his face. His mask never falters, but his eyes linger on her head for a second too long. Then their gazes meet, and he immediately breaks contact.

“I think it’s functional,” Cyrus says stiffly.

“Yes,” Cynthia mutters. “It’s big enough to hide my face. No one can recognize me when I have this giant hat blocking my face…”

“That’s sarcasm, Boss,” the Grunt with the bloody nose whispers behind Cynthia. Cyrus nods, but he looks perplexed as to what he's nodding to.

“I see.” He fidgets the notch of his tie. “Do you need anything else, Cynthia?”

“Um. No. I’m good.” Before they can head out, someone whistles from the second floor. Commander Juipter is waving down at them. Mars’s eyes are wide and Saturn’s jaw is slack as they stare at their boss in a suit.

“Looking cute!” Jupiter gives an exaggerated air kiss. Cynthia warmly returns a kiss while Cyrus just stares at his Commander like she’s signaling extraterrestrial Pokemon. Cynthia has the strongest feeling that Jupiter’s compliment isn’t solely to her. “Be careful out there!”

"Thank you, Jupiter." Cyrus tilts his head. “Cynthia. Let us go.”

* * *

The moment they step outside the Galactic parameters, a cold summer breeze hits Cynthia in the face. She remembers Veilstone as being dreadfully dry in the Winter and weirdly humid in the Spring. Right now, the sky can’t decide if it wants sunny or cloudy weather.

“Would you like to hear the history of the city?” Cyrus offers, shielding his eyes from the ambiguous sun.

“Sure,” she says warmly. As Cyrus launches into lecture mode, her attention slips again. After a week of staying with people who sports the same haircut and space uniform, the sight of _normal_ civilians can be quite jarring. There’s so much commotion and activity that her heart leaps with excitement.

“This is the Veilstone Department Store,” Cyrus is saying. “Do you want to look?”

“Not really. I’ve been there plenty of times to know that they don’t stock anything new. It’s always the same TMs.”

“Oh.” Cyrus’s lips twitch. “What about the Game Store? It’s also a popular destination, especially with Saturn and the Grunts.”

Cynthia sighs. “I… shouldn’t gamble. Last time I went, I couldn’t keep up my bonus streak, and I had a few drinks…” She groans. “I think the owner still hates me for it.”

“I see.” Cyrus makes a faint choking sound. Cynthia turns to see if he’s all right, but he appears perfectly nonplussed. Except, that tug in his lips are much more pressed.

“Everything okay there, Cyrus?”

“Hmm? Of course. I am fine.” As he walks away, Cynthia realizes what he must’ve been attempting to do. She hurries after him.

“Were you laughing?”

Cyrus blinks. “No.” His voice remains deadpan, yet something glints in his eyes. “Why would I?” Cynthia rolls her eyes.

“Hey, all of these buildings have a little dedication to Galactic Corporation at the bottom,” she says when they’re reached another impasse in conversation. “I’ve never noticed that before.”

Cyrus brings his hands behind his back. “Galactic Corporation invests in major recreational areas around the city. We also support libraries, parks, clinics…” He pauses. “My Commanders are bigger advocates of funding public spaces.”

"It's said that you also built the Game Store."

"Yes. It's a convenient source of revenue for us, as well as a place of entertainment for the people here."

Cynthia beams and punches him in the arm. Cyrus now looks completely and hopelessly lost. “Did I say something upsetting?”

“Hmm? No. Why?”

“You punched me.” He’s rubbing his arm, his eyes wide. “Such display of physical contact usually indicates aggression.”

“That doesn’t mean I hate you.” Cynthia’s attention shifts somewhere else. “Oooh! I remember this Gym!”

Cyrus watches her bounce to the rock ledge and follows. “It's just like last time,” he mutters to no one in particular as he holds his stinging arm.

* * *

The sun is high in the sky. Cynthia finally sits down on the benches to rest her feet. She had explored the whole city and is now resting outside the gates. Cyrus, though, remains collected in his suit and chooses to stand.

“Aren’t you tired?” Cynthia pants. She pulls her hat down and wipes her brow.

“Don’t that the hat off,” Cyrus snaps. Cynthia is slightly taken aback by the sharpness in his voice. “The sun can damage your skin,” he says lamely after a silence. His eyes dart around the vicinity before coming to a rest on the ground. Route 214 is empty, except for the two of them and the Ruin Maniac that’s always chipping away in his tunnel.

Cynthia wrings her hands but nevertheless complies. “Jupiter will be furious if I lost her hat, huh?” she says in an attempt to break the awkwardness. Cyrus doesn’t respond.

Then when he speaks, the words are totally flat and Cyrus-esque. “Are you hungry?”

Cynthia holds back a laugh. It comes out as a snort instead. “Maybe. But I want to see the beach. I’ve heard it’s beautiful at dusk.”

“The closest beach is in Valor Lakefront,” he mutters.

“I love that beach.” She claps her hands, then her expression sours. “I just hate the road that connects it to Veilstone. It’s a mess to navigate.”

Cyrus seems to mull something over. “But do you still wish to go?” His voice is a bit detached from his blank face. Cynthia gasps. “We can Fly there.”

Before Cynthia can ask him to clarify, two large, black wings sprout from his back, unfurling to cover the sun. Majestic feathers rain from the sky, each one as big as her arm.

Cynthia makes a choking sound as she stumbles off the bench and hits her butt on the ground. Cyrus, though, remains nonplussed as he looms over her, radiating an even darker presence than before, glowing in the reddening sun like a fallen angel.

“Cyrus!” she sputters. _Are you even human?!_ Cynthia inwardly covers her stomach in the absurd event where he’ll draw a sword and stab her. Cyrus gives her an odd stare, completely unaware that he just sprouted wings. Then he extends his arm, and Honchkrow slinks into view, its beak curved in a sinister smirk. Cynthia steadies a hand on her chest to still her hammering heart.

“You can ride Honchkrow.” His voice never breaks monotone. However, those cloudy eyes seem to glint at her shock. “Do you remember how to Fly?”

“Y-Yeah.” Cynthia staggers to her feet. Honchkrow watches her with an amused sneer. She hesitates to touch it. “How about you?”

Cyrus summons Crobat. The purple bat rubs its head against his cheek. Honchkrow grins and hops to the bat, its eyelids rising and falling like the waves.

“Your Pokemon really like you,” Cynthia says as Honchkrow settles on Cyrus's other shoulder. Crobat rolls its eyes at the crow.

“It’s the result of disciplinary training. My Pokemon require basic needs that I offer them, and in return, they obey my commands.” His shoulders are quivering under their weight, but he's not saying anything. “Unlike you Trainers, I do not make my Pokemon my friends or partners.”

Cynthia hums. “Sure. But you have a Crobat.”

“Yes. I see that. She evolved from a Golbat, regardless.” Judging from Cyrus’s expression, he’s missing her point entirely. “Do you need help getting on Honchkrow?”

Cynthia cautiously approaches the giant crow. Cyrus clears his throat, and the bird meekly lowers its head so Cynthia can mount. Cyrus stands behind her, though, occasionally glancing around. “I’m good,” Cynthia breathes. The bird’s down is silky like satin.

“Good.” The two Pokemon take flight. Cynthia grabs Honchkrow’s feathers and laughs as the wind tickles her fingers and the stale city air gives way to a light, salty breeze. She glances over at Cyrus, and her jaw drops in horror. His long legs are dangling haphazardly in the air while his upper body is draped on the Crobat. Since the bat’s wings are different from Honchkrow’s, it bobs up and down like a Tauros attraction ride. Cyrus’s face is sober as a rock as he jitters erratically, half of his body hitting air.

* * *

They finally touch ground as the sun begins to dip into the horizon. Cyrus recalls his Pokemon while Cynthia marvels at the view.

“Look, Cyrus! Bubbles! Look at all these bubbles!” The bubbles reflect a multitude of the colors of the setting sun, drifting amidst the beach with no end in mind. Cynthia feels a prick of nostalgia for something she doesn’t remember.

And that something is cold and bites her elbow. Cynthia looks down to see Cyrus offering a yellow can. “Lemonade!” She pries open the top and takes a long, satisfying drink. She sighs. “How’d you know it was my favorite?”

Cyrus shrugs slightly. He keeps his attention on the Fresh Water in his hands, rolling it absentmindedly through his palms. Of _course_ he would choose the Fresh Water. She could never see him indulging in cavity-causing drinks.

Cynthia finishes her can and tosses it in the trash. She removes her shoes and tip-toes around the warm sand. Its fine, silky grains tickle her heels. She recalls her younger days with more clarity while standing on the beach.

“When sun begins to set and the skies are clear, the Krabby and Gastrodon come to blow bubbles,” Cyrus says softly, staring at nothing in particular. He tilts his head, listening to the waves crashing on the shore, the Wingulls’ sorrowful cries as they circle the skies.

Cynthia traps a bubble in her hands. She blows it to his direction. He doesn’t blink as it pops on his nose. “You come here often, Cyrus?”

Cyrus doesn’t reply. He looks deep in thought again. Cynthia brings a happy Shellos to his face.

“Come on, Cyrus. Loosen up! Be like the Shellos. Look! It’s smiling! It likes you!” Shellos chirps jubilantly, as if greeting an old friend. Cyrus stares at the snail with empty eyes. Cynthia stretches her grin to match the likeliness of Shellos’s. _Now_ he looks a bit startled.

Cynthia tries another angle. “So why do Shellos come in two different forms, Cyrus?”

He snaps to lecture mode. “Shellos hold different forms depending on which side of Mt. Coronet they inhabit. In fact, scientists are looking towards Shellos as holding the key to explaining the universe’s creation…” Cynthia smirks and pokes his cheek before he can continue. She tugs at the corner of his lip and laughs, pulling back.

“Sorry! I couldn’t help it. The opportunity was too perfect to pass up.” Cynthia sets Shellos down on its merry way.

Cyrus’s mind is clearly somewhere else. He suddenly looks very feverish… and his face, for once, is not devoid of emotion.

“Cyrus?” The smirk slips off her lips. “Um… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy like that…”

Cyrus quickly shakes his head. He has one arm crossed over his chest, as if he’s in pain. The other hand he flicks at Cynthia as if telling her to go enjoy herself and don’t mind him while he sits alone in the corner with his knees huddled up as the other kids—

Cynthia blinks hard. _Where was that train of thought headed?_

Cyrus is already shuffling to the dune, where he mechanically deposits himself into the sand, never minding his suit getting dirty. A million calculations whirl in his brain, muddled with a mess of ambivalent thoughts.

Cynthia purses her lips and cautiously approaches him. She keeps her distance. “Cyrus, I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Cyrus looks at her with glassy eyes. “You don’t need to apologize for anything." Then in a lower voice he adds, “Nothing has changed from last time.”

"What?"

Cyrus refocuses his gaze. “How are your memories?” he says as casually as the unsteadiness in his breath can allow. That, Cynthia offers a small smile.

“I’m making progress since last time. I remember my life as Sinnoh’s Champion.” She gauges his unreadable reaction. Cyrus just nods. “However… when I say this beach and all its bubbles… I remember that boy.”

Cyrus’s breaths are shallow. “You speak of him a lot.”

Cynthia beams, and he drops his gaze to the waves. “I can’t explain it… but whenever I think of him, I have this weird feeling in my chest. We met one summer… on the beaches of Sunyshore. He was always sitting by himself. The other kids would warn me not to go near him.”

“Why didn’t you take their advice?” Cyrus’s voice is quiet. “Paying heed to your heart will lead to trouble down the road.”

“He was like me,” Cynthia says softly. “He was hurting. I can’t leave him alone. If I did that, then I can never forgive myself for ignoring someone I could’ve helped. I don’t want to have any regrets.”

_What is Cyrus thinking?_

“You’ve wasted your time,” he says in dead monotone. He grabs a fistful of sand and lets it fall between his fingers.

“No,” Cynthia states firmly. Cyrus frowns, but it's more of a placement expression for something much, much deeper. “No, I didn’t. I actually found his company much more inviting than those other kids that wanted to be my friends.” She begins walking an indivisible trail in the sand, her coat flaring behind her like a cape. “Being the new kid in Sunyshore, I felt compelled to join whoever that wanted me to tag along. But when I saw him, I knew… I knew that I wanted him to be my first friend.

“He was very patient. And he was very kind, always listening to my problems… He understood my dilemma. I could be myself around him… and he’s always been there for me.

“I kept coming back every summer. I pestered my parents, even though we’ve explored all there is to offer. I just wanted to see the boy again. Every time we meet, he would tell me a new story. We’d go searching for treasure and lore…” Her voice swells with emotion. “We called ourselves an exploration team and formed our own guild and everything. We found fossils, gems, lost gold…” Cynthia shuffles about the sand and stops in front of Cyrus.

“It was in a cave of some sort where we found a pair of peculiar evolutionary stones.” Cynthia rummages through her pocket and produces a jagged, white rock. “Moonstones aren’t white, but he was confident that it was a Moonstone. Look. Do you see this strange inscription at the bottom? We got really excited in thinking it could be the key to something.” Cynthia holds the stone up to the orange sky. “I’ve kept it as a souvenir of our time together… and to always remember our promise of solving whatever secrets this white Moonstone hides.”

Cynthia drops her voice. “But by then, I was starting my journey as a Pokemon Trainer. By the time I returned to Sunyshore, he was gone.” Cynthia scoffs and palms the stone to her cheek, the surface pleasantly cold against her dry skin. “I wanted to tell him about my adventures… I guess it’s selfish to expect someone to wait for you for years, huh? Stupid me can’t even remember his name or what he looked like. I didn’t get the chance to even say goodbye.” The salty air had traveled down her throat. “I’d be surprised if he even remembers me.”

Cyrus has been dead silent throughout her story. His face isn’t blank, but it’s hard to decipher whatever emotions are bubbling under his mask. 

“Sorry for making you listen to my rambling,” Cynthia sighs. “Sometimes you’re so quiet I forget that you’re even here.”

Cyrus rests his chin on his knees. Cynthia reluctantly joins him on the dune, making sure to keep in mind his personal space. It’s a perfect view of the beach up here: she can see the red sun as it laps the waves and the bubbles shimmering in the last light.

When Cyrus speaks, his voice is raw, unfiltered by his mental walls. He sounds a bit relieved, in fact. “I’m glad you’re making progress on your memories. I wouldn’t know anything about it, but if your friend sees you now… he must be happy.” He wavers for a brief second, but she doesn’t catch that. “Before long, you can forget all this nonsense and return your life as it has been.” And when he looks at her, it makes her heart ache painfully. “As we sit here, time is slowly being undone in other parts of the region, bit by bit… slowly and surely… before any knowledge about the Time Gears was made. We’ve also seen a rise in crime as a result of such phenomenon.” Then his tone sours. “How unfortunate that you lost your memory amidst this chaos.”

Cynthia is silent. For a while, the groans of crashing waves are the loudest sound.

“Hey, Cyrus,” she says. He shifts to show response. “What do you have against emotions? You’re always talking about them like they’re the trash on this earth.”

“Emotions make the spirit weak.” His voice returns to its cold indifference. “A weak spirit is the result of a dysfunctional heart defiled by ugly emotions and primitive instinct.” A hint of resentment leaks into his face. “And because of that, the world will continue to be in conflict, and we will never achieve true peace.” Then his voice drops. “But if I can create a perfect world--”

“Cyrus,” Cynthia snaps, alarm rising up her spine.

“You understand nothing,” Cyrus growls, deadpan, not meeting her eyes.

Cynthia glares into her fists. “You’re right. I don’t understand, Cyrus. I don’t understand your philosophy at all. But I understand why you hate the world. You have every reason to do so.” She looks at him. “But I’ll stop you. I won’t let you strip all emotion away. There’s no such thing as an ideal, perfect world. We, as humans, must choose what to cherish if we are to create an ideal world where we have everything that’s precious to us.”

_Huh._ Cynthia feels like she had given this speech before. Maybe at another point in time. Maybe in another _timeline._ She can see herself facing off against Cyrus as she attempts to stop his broken ambitions from becoming reality. There’s a great weight on her shoulders as the fate of the whole world hinges on whether she can save Cyrus from himself.

In the present, Cyrus’s eyes are dim. “‘Precious?’ You’re being needlessly sentimental again, Cynthia.”

Cynthia huffs. “Surely you must have something precious in your life.” She tries to search his mask for a shred of emotion. “Something you cherish enough to protect it always.”

Cyrus tilts his head to the heavens. He shakes his head, but his fingernails are raking across the sand with more force than necessary. In the end, he turns away.

Cynthia sighs and stands. She wades to the water, pants and all. “Cynthia,” she hears his voice beginning to break monotone. She wanders further into the surf. “What are you doing?” His tone becomes heavier and colder. “Come back this instant!”

“It’s not like you care,” she snaps. Cyrus’s face grows dark. Cynthia proceeds even further, prompting Cyrus to scramble to the shoreline. He hesitates before entering the water.

“Cynthia!” His command is sharp enough to crack her spine. “COME BACK AT ONCE!”

Cynthia’s foot skids over a rock, and she falls headfirst into the water. Luckily, the beach isn’t that shallow. Unfortunately, her clothes and Jupiter’s hat are ruined.

The waves splash angrily as a pair or dress shoes cuts into the water. A strong hand grips her arm and yanks her up to match Cyrus’s glare. “Do you wish to _drown_?” he barks.

“Were you worried?” Cynthia whispers.

_"Yes!_ Of course I was worried! You could’ve died!!” Scowling, he hoists her to her feet. Some Shellos and Buizel are gathering to see the commotion. “The least you can get away with is a sprained ankle, but it’s also possible you might contract hypothermia…”

As he leans to inspect her potential injuries, Cynthia kicks some water into his head. Cyrus jerks upright, his face frozen between rage and shock. His suit is wet, his tie drenched, and the gel is streaming down his fluffy hair. Cynthia knows that she’s a terrible human being, but at that moment, laughter erupts from her stomach.

“SILENCE!” The laughter dies immediately. Even the Pokemon scamper away.

“See? You can show emotion after all.” Cyrus is still smoldering, but his anger cracks slightly. “Emotions let others know that you care for them. It lets you know which things are precious enough not to let go, and you can act accordingly.” She smiles sheepishly. “Because we feel so strongly about something, we know which moments in our lives are worth remembering.” She gently places a hand on his chest. _"L-dum. L-dum,"_ sings the irregular rhythm of his heart. “For me, a world without emotion and spirit is a world without memories. Good and bad, if you don’t feel strongly enough about something to protect it, then you’ll be regret it later when it’s gone.”

The fury had melted from Cyrus’s face. Now he just stares at her with an all-too-vacant look, as if he’s seeing someone else in her place. Cynthia withdraws her hand and beams. “I gave you a memory. If you have nothing precious to remember, you can look back at this moment and remember me… because after I regain all my memories, I won’t forget everything you’ve done for me.”

Cyrus is silent. His eyes linger to her face, her smile, before circulating to the surroundings. He watches the bubbles, and for once acknowledges them as _bubbles_ instead of scientific phenomenon. He looks to the grinning Pokemon at his feet, looks to the dipping sun, the multicolored streaks in the sky and the balmy beach breeze. Some sort of revelation shines on his eyes before he returns his gaze to Cynthia.

“This world of ours is imperfect,” he murmurs. “Pain and suffering arise as a result of our incomplete spirit.” But before Cynthia can stop him, his brow furrows, and his tone changes. “And yet, you’ll protect this world because you cherish this… this trivial, vacuous sentimentality created from your weak heart. You want to protect this world because you want to preserve precious memories. In the midst of all this strife, you fight for the right to hope and remember… because the past still matters.” Cyrus appears to struggle for the right words, something uncharacteristic of the stoic, confident man she grew to know. She has the feeling that he’d searched deep inside himself to translate his mixed thoughts.

“Yes.” Cynthia grasps his hand. His skin is cold and calloused… and warm. Cyrus stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re now part of my memories, too. I’ll keep fighting to protect everything I hold dear… as the Champion of Sinnoh, and as Cynthia of Celestic Town.”

None of them speak after that. A Luvdisk flails to Cynthia’s leg and chirps happily. Cyrus hasn’t blinked, and it's beginning to worry her.

Then he closes his eyes, and Cynthia lets out her own breath. “I see.” That’s all he says before lapsing into thoughtful silence. She doesn’t force him to specify anything. The darkness had lifted from his eyes, at least a little. The fact that he’s considering her response is good enough.

However, deep in the pits of her visceral organs, she feels a strange sense of relief. It’s the sixth-sense feeling of having prevented an unspeakable calamity from happening. Whatever had happened in that moment in time will change the course of her story. The gears are now rotating in a different direction, the tracks are switching and changing. But whether this is a _welcomed_ change, only time will tell.

“Do you want to stay here a bit more?” Cynthia says, still holding his hand. “At least until dusk?”

Cyrus nods. Cynthia grins, and the two of them turn to admire the sunset in silence. The bubbles graze over the shimmering waves. She immortalizes this serenity into her memory, this uplifting feeling and the closure of Cyrus by her side. She won’t let this memory escape from her grasp. Never again.

And little does Cynthia know, this moment will be her last reprieve as storm clouds gather in the not-so-distant future.

* * *

Before returning to Headquarters, Cyrus stops by the Department Store to replace Jupiter’s hat. Everyone was curious as to why their leader is soaked to the bone, but they are all too afraid to ask.


	5. Everything Falls Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia finds the truth to be unpleasant at best.

Cynthia has grown accustomed to the Galactic Building as if it had always been her home. She also makes an effort to differentiate the grunts by the timbre of their voices and distinct mannerisms.

“Morning, Miss Cynthia!” For example, the Grunt who served her breakfast everyday has a mole under her eye. “I got dairy-free yogurt for you today.”

“Great! Thanks!”

And there's another very loud, very talkative Grunt. "Heya, Miss Cynthia!" he will always greet her as his giant butt bounces behind him. "What's cracking?"

Cynthia soon recognizes some familiar faces during breakfast. She enjoys their company, regardless of their faces blurring together into one big, galactic mass.

Speaking of which, Cyrus often joins her for breakfast. When she mentions how welcoming everyone had become, Cyrus looks up and beckons the gawking grunts to the table. Everyone is shocked. Cyrus tells her that if she appreciated eating with larger groups, he’ll be glad to comply.

“My company is too… bland,” he says. “You would prefer the others.”

“It won’t be as fun without you.” Cynthia beams. He stares at her, then his lips twitch. And from that moment forward, the flabbergasted grunts live the once-lucrative dream of sitting with their leader. Consequently, the cafeteria seems more crowded than ever before.

“Are there usually this much people?” Cynthia will whisper to a Grunt.

“Crickey, not in a million years. Everyone’s just slapped ecstatic ‘cuz the big bad is here. I mean... why woulda give up the chance to sit near _Master Cyrus_?”

Cynthia leaves before his accent worsens.

* * *

Jupiter always greets her with the same air as if they were acquaintances.

“Doing good, Cynthia?” she asks one day.

“Yes! Thank you.” Cynthia hesitates. “Jupiter?”

“Hmm?”

"You don't refer to Cyrus as your boss?"

Jupiter looks up from her nails. "Well… he _is_ my boss, if that's what you're wondering about. I'm his Commander."

Cynthia sits beside her. Jupiter raises a thick eyebrow, but she smirks and lets her be. "You just seem more casual around him."

"Really now?" Jupiter mulls that over, and she utters a gentle laugh. "I guess."

Cynthia waits for specification that never comes. Jupiter smiles at her nails, her eyes set in a time that's not the present.

Then Cynthia clears her throat. “Jupiter… Did I do something to Mars and Saturn?”

Jupiter blinks. “Pffft, no! They’re just being ungrateful little brats! Don't let them get to you."

"But—"

"Oh, look at the time! I need to track him down before he gets up and leaves again. Ta-ta!" Jupiter waves a hasty goodbye and vanishes before Cynthia can even open her mouth.

* * *

Sometimes Cynthia sees the two Commanders in question, huddling and whispering to each other. Saturn always looks agitated while Mars remains impossible to read. They remind Cynthia of siblings who are hiding a secret from their dad.

* * *

As her memories return, so does her thirst for adventure. Unfortunately, she lacks Togekiss to fly to far places. She'd explore Veilstone down to its nitty gritty, and yet the whole world remains a mystery.

"I have time," Cyrus will say when he does see her around. "I can accompany you." And she'll see the stacks of paper on his desk, waiting for his signature, the computer with multiple tabs open, the sixth mug of coffee near his side.

"Um… it's okay," she will reply. 

He offers her the Grunts, but she tells him that she is a perfectly sober adult, not to mention the damn Champion of Sinnoh. After much debate –he’s unmovable like Mt. Coronet -- he finally relents after Cynthia pulls the fake tears.

“Very well. But promise me you’ll wear the hat. And come back before dusk.”

“Aww. Sure. So you do have a heart, Cyrus.”

“Privileges can always be revoked, Cynthia.”

And the world has plenty to explore, indeed. Cynthia relishes her freedom, her spirit set alight by the frontier of independence and the thrill of adventure. After a day’s worth of exploration, she comes back to Cyrus’s nightly check-ins and story time.

"I took Garchomp to get a message today, Cyrus!" she says one night. "And look what I got!" She holds up the accessory for him to see.

"Ah. What is that?"

"A Determination!" she says as if it's blatantly obvious, and it is. But he just stares at it as the gears whirl loudly in his head.

"I… I see. Interesting, how an object can stand without glue or some sort of adhesive…" He remains in the doorway. "And do you have plans for tomorrow, Cynthia?"

* * *

Time continues to flow by peacefully… until it doesn't. To Cynthia and to Cyrus, it should’ve been another day of harmless interaction.

Cynthia is enjoying a can of Lemonade in the Department Store when the news flashes a very familiar image on the screen. A very, _very_ familiar face that makes her blood run cold.

“Champion Cynthia is still missing,” the reporter is saying. “It’s been more than a week since she had disappeared. Authorities are still investigating. Please, if you see her, contact the police or the Elite Four…”

Cynthia had unconsciously tuned out the rest of the words. An illogical sense of danger sinks into her stomach. She tugs on her hat. _Yes, the brim is big enough to cover my face_. To think that she was a missing person… how is one supposed to _feel_ about this?

Cynthia flees into the outskirts of the city, where the entrance of Route 214 begins. _Why are people suddenly staring at me as if I'm a criminal?_ _Why? What's wrong with me?_

_Why is this sense of foreboding only growing heavier?_

A chilly wind slaps her face and steals her hat. Cynthia fails to catch it, and it falls into the lake. Cursing herself for losing composure so easily, Cynthia bends to fish out her mistake. _Great. I ruined Jupiter’s hat not once, but twice. What will Cyrus say…_

As she glares at her reflection, something hard grips her shoulder. Cynthia immediately pulls out Garchomp to sic Draco Meteor on the fiend… until she realizes who he is.

The name rolls into her memory. His face shimmers into the light. “Flint?”

Flint’s ruddy face bursts into a grin. He pushes Garchomp aside and flings his hands around her. The land dragon snaps at him until he yelps in pain.

“Garchomp! No! Down!” Cynthia recalls the exasperated Pokemon. “I’m sorry, Flint. Garchomp’s been acting up recently…”

“That hurts more than a Beedrill’s stinger,” Flint mutters. Then his attention shifts back to Cynthia. “Cynthia. Cynthia, that’s really you, right?”

“I haven’t heard of any other Cynthia that’s also the Champion of Sinnoh,” she says smugly.

“Damn it, Cynthia! It’s so good to have you back!”

“Back? Flint, you’re crushing me…”

“Oh. Sorry.” Flint settles on grabbing her shoulders instead. He stares into her eyes, which she notices that his own are puffy and red, as if he’d been crying. “Cynthia, we were worried sick about you! When you disappeared, we thought… we thought…” Flint quickly turns away. He sniffs loudly and returns. “Damn it, Cynthia! What happened to you?”

Cynthia holds up her hands. “I’m fine, Flint! I was exploring some place and happened to trip. Luckily, I was saved.”

Flint heaves until his shoulder begin trembling. She sees the reemergence of tears in his eyes. “Who’s the angel that saved you? I gotta give them a big, fat Smoochum kiss!”

“His name is Cyrus,” Cynthia says with a smile. At that very moment, _at that very second,_ something snaps out of place, somewhere in the universe. A remorseful _click_ resonates through the timeline as the gears groan and whirl in the opposite direction.

Flint’s earlier joy has vanished entirely. “C-Cyrus?” There’s something wrong in his voice. A bitter taste rises to the back of Cynthia’s throat, and she doesn’t know why. “Like, C-Y-R-U-S? _That_ Cyrus?”

“Y-yes.” _Should… should I keep talking?_ Another voice is haggling in her mind. Some part of her body is rebelling against itself. “He nursed me back to health.”

Flint is looking at her as if she had turned into a Shellos right before his eyes. “Cynthia,” he says very, very slowly. “Just because I’m very passionate doesn’t mean I’m a complete fool. _Please_ don’t tell me that this ‘Cyrus’ of yours happens to be the CEO of Galactic Corporation.”

“Um… yes?”

" _No! Nooo!"_ a squeaky, familiar voice screams in her consciousness. _"What are you doing?!"_

But out loud, Cynthia says, “H-how’d you know, Flint?”

Now Flint’s really starting to scare her. His eyes are wide as the moon, his face white with strain. He keeps shaking his head and muttering, “Damn it, damn it, damn all the damn Bidoofs in this world, why?” to himself.

“Flint?” Cynthia squeaks.

He grips her hand. Hard. “Cynthia, what the _hell_ were you doing with someone like him?”

The way he’s handling Cyrus’s name sparks a hint of irritation in Cynthia. “Why are talking about him as if he’s a monster?” she snaps, glaring at Flint. Flint falters, but his eyes grow wider until she can see blood vessels.

“Cynthia! That man is evil! Team Galactic is evil! They’re dangerous! Did you hit your head or something?!”

Cynthia reluctantly admits to the truth. Flint staggers back and rakes his hand through his hair until he almost pulls it out.

“Oh no, Cynthia. Oh fu-- Nononono… This is horrible…”

“Flint?” Cynthia’s voice cracks. Her stomach had suddenly grown cold, and it’s not from the Lemonade. “What is happening?”

“Cynthia… let’s go. We need to get you out of here. Luckily, the others aren’t far off…”

Cynthia yanks back her hand. “Flint, what in the world is going on here?”

And when Flint looks at her, the world seems to hold its breath. Her knees suddenly become very weak to the point of falling over if she hadn’t steadied herself. His next words assault her like pins being forcibly shoved into her ears.

“Cynthia. Galactic Corporation is a front for Team Galactic, a dangerous band of criminals. Their leader, Cyrus, is under investigation by the International Criminal Police Organization.”

* * *

“Are my eyes deceiving me? Cynthia, is that you?”

Cynthia only nods as Bertha pulls the Champion into her arms. “Thank goodness you’re safe,” Bertha says, her voice thick.

“Cynthia!” Aaron flings his arms around the two women. “You got us all worried sick!”

Lucian remains afar as he measures Cynthia with unreadable eyes, as if he’s expecting a disaster. When she finally whispers his name, his face breaks into a relieved smile. “Oh, Cynthia!” He joins the group.

Flint is teetering to and fro on the balls of his feet. “Okay. Okay. Everyone calm down. We have a problem.”

Aaron scowls. “Come on, Flint! You told us to go all the way here just to see Cynthia. There’s literally no one around! What’s the big hurry now?”

Flint hisses through his teeth. He flutters around like a distressed Butterfree, checking to see if no one else is in earshot.

“Cyrus got to her first!”

As soon as the last word slips his tongue, the mood changes. All eyes turn to Cynthia as if she was a dirty specimen waiting for dissection.

“What?” A vein stretches in Lucian's neck.

“Cyrus kidnapped her and held her for weeks!” Flint slams his fists into the ground. “The fiend must’ve brainwashed her! I don’t know what he had planned for you, but he’ll be very, _very sorry_ he messed with my friend!”

“T-that’s now what happened." Her protest falls against deaf ears.

“Cynthia also lost her memory. To think that bastard would go as far as to hurt her to cover his tracks…”

“N-no.” Her voice is shaking. “That’s not…”

“You lost your memory?” Aaron cries.

“The nerve of that criminal…” Lucian’s normally stoic voice is seeping with poison.

Cynthia’s words fail her. Bertha offers a comforting hand, but her face is stern. “It’s okay now, dear. We’re here for you. We won’t let that dastardly group of crooks get away with this.”

Everything is falling apart. It wasn’t that long ago that she’d held _his_ hand while the sun sets. Not long ago that he’d been by her bedside, reciting a famous myth, his eyes shining with child-like fascination. Not long ago that he’d assure her of her safety at Headquarters. There’s no _way_ he was the one that hurt her. There’s no way…

 _"Don’t lie to yourself,"_ the cold, rational voice hisses. " _Do you remember his sick delight as he told you about the Planet’s Paralysis? Do you remember how surprised he was to hear to recall his name? Remember how he’s always on edge…"_

Then the memories return with a vengeance. _Team Galactic. Their blocky, brutish buildings rising like spires in the city. The criminal organization no one took seriously, with their tacky hair and outfits._

_The one I've been tracking down… to confront their shadowy leader._

Suddenly everything makes sense. _Of course they hated me. I'm their enemy._ The pieces click into place, but she finds no relief from the revelation.

“I remember now,” Cynthia states flatly. Everyone shuts up and stares at her. “I remember everything now.”

“C-Cynthia? W-Why don’t you sit down?”

“No.” The flood of emotions slams into her at once and knocks her off her mental standing. Fortunately, the feel of blood as a result of fingernails puncturing skin slaps her back to reality. The bitter taste from earlier had spread into her mouth and up her nose.

_Damn you, Cyrus…! You manipulative bastard…_

Cynthia recounts her story. She fails to tell them about the beach, the myths… the instances where his mask broke to reveal raw, human emotion. Her brain cannot crank out the right sentences to do so.

_It’s not important, anyway! Those memories weren’t real to begin with._ And yet, buried away in deepest corner of her heart, something… _someone_ still keeps that flickering light from extinguishing forever. 

Their eyes never leave her face when she finishes her tale.

Flint is the first one to break the shocked silence. “Damn him. I knew he was an emotionless robot, but this just takes it to the extreme!” He smacks his head until bright, red welts appear on his skin. “We _have_ to tell Looker!”

That name registers very briefly in her mind. “Looker?”

Bertha nods. “Looker is an officer with Interpol. The Elite Four has been helping him with his investigation into Galactic Co—into Team Galactic. He proposed that Cyrus was responsible for time stopping across the world, even before the first Time Gear disappeared. Looker’s also the one that linked your disappearance with Team Galactic’s doing.”

The revelation hits Cynthia before anything else. _Why are the pieces fitting together so damn snugly?_ “So Cyrus did steal the Time Gear.”

_I knew it._

Lucian’s eyes twitch. “How’d you know that it wasn’t misplaced?” He’s staring at her rather oddly.

Cynthia returns her own glare. “What else could it be?” she replies with deliberate harshness.

Aaron puts a hand between her and Lucian. “Cynthia’s actually right. The public doesn’t know about it because it’ll cause a big ruckus. Looker _did_ reason that Team Galactic stole the Time Gear. Why? I don’t know. But Cynthia, I think you’ve been through enough—”

“I can help with the Operation,” Cynthia snaps. Aaron shuts his mouth.

Bertha sighs. “Cynthia, I don’t want you to go back there… You might get hurt.”

 _Wait a minute… Cyrus never… No._ No. _He had other methods. He’s never a hands-on person._

“Before I lost my memory, I think I was investigating a lead on Cyrus.” It’s still not clear what happened on that day. Strangely enough, those memories are the only things she _can’t_ grasp. Her childhood memories are still fuzzy as well, but they’re insignificant now.

But one thing’s for sure: she was indeed looking for something important. “If we’re going to have any success at blowing his cover, I’m the best person to do it.”

“Cynthia—” Flint begins. She holds up her hand.

“It’s my fault for being so naïve. Out of everyone here, he won’t suspect me.” It’s suddenly difficult to match their gazes. Cynthia inwardly puts a hand on her chest to steady herself. “Please… let me help too.”

Silence. Then Lucian sighs. “Okay, Cynthia. We’ll let Looker know to expect you. Just… just stay safe until then.”

* * *

The knocking happens exactly on time. Cynthia remains in her covers as _that_ man enters the room, stopping at the same spot ever since her awakening.

“Is everything all right, Cynthia?” His tactless voice stirs up a bitter wave in her stomach. Cynthia blinks hard to suppress the vomit that threatens to spill out.

“I’m fine." Silence. She feels his eyes on her, watching her, analyzing for a trace of anomaly.

“I see.” _He’s unconvinced._ She hears him take a sharp breath. She expects him to say something. Then his boots hit the tile and door closes.

Tonight is the first time he doesn’t tell his stories.

* * *

Eventually Cynthia feels a growing rift between her and the first person she saw after her awakening. Her body is avoiding him, but her mind is still frustratingly conflicted. She knows that he’s a criminal… but those _memories_ , those _emotions_ … that great, empty ache in her heart…

_Was this all part of his elaborate plan, whatever they may be?_

Many times Cyrus attempts small-talk, such as asking her about the quality of breakfast, about her favorite foods… but she’d lost all appetite of even answering him. Cyrus picks up on her behavior sooner than she would’ve liked to expect.

And every time she sees him, his eyes have gotten a bit colder.

And yet, he still keeps coming to check in on her every night. Even when she refuses to speak. Cyrus makes his indivisible presence known – even for a second – before leaving her alone in her thoughts.

“Wait,” Cynthia says one night. He only gives her a marginal side glance, his face unreadable.

“Yes?”

“I saw the news. They said that I was a missing person.”

His monotone never wavers. “I see.”

Cynthia growls. _That’s all he’s giving me?_ “Why didn’t you let anyone know that I’m safe?” Her voice shakes with bitter emotion. She isn’t aware of this, but Cyrus hears it all right. At that moment, a slip of emotion enters his eyes as well, but she fails to notice it.

“I was concerned for your privacy, Champion.”

Cynthia snarls. “Yeah, right. Concerned my ass.” Cyrus fixes her with another empty stare before shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

The grunts haven’t noticed the cold war between Cynthia and their boss. In fact, the very day a grunt nonchalantly relays a message from Cyrus: “I cannot join you for breakfast today.”

_Good riddance_ , she tells herself, but the words fail to reach her ears. The conviction fails to reach her heart.

* * *

Flint beckons Cynthia to the back room of the café. He checks around he closes the door. The Elite Four wait for her inside, but Flint moves to the wall… and begins talking to it.

"I brought her," he whispers.

The wall doesn't reply. Cynthia looks to the others, but they're perfectly stoic, as if what Flint is doing makes all the sense in the world.

Flint clears his throat. "Faith can…"

"Move mountains!" And the flimsy tarp of wall flings aside. Cynthia jumps back at the man that just emerged from the damn brick. He sips his triangular juice carton and looks up to his surprised audience.

Then he sees her. "And you must be Champion Cynthia! So good to see you in person!" He has a nice, rugged face and a light accent. "You may call me 'Looker!' That's what everyone calls me. And not to worry! I am an International Police Officer, the genuine article!"

"O-Oh. Okay." _Is he really a police officer? Or is he here for a tour of Sandgem Park? Or… maybe in reality he's a comedian?_

"Thank you for coming, Detective Looker," Bertha says, and everything returns to normal.

Soon they're sitting at the large wooden table. Windows surround the walls, but Looker ensures the bewildered Champion that this place is soundproof and hidden from prying eyes.

“I know that it must be hard for you, Miss Cynthia." The mirth had faded from Looker's face, and now he looks as serious as any other officer in blue. "But the police appreciate your time.”

“It’s the least I can do.” When had her words become so… _empty_?

The Elite Four are attentive as Looker spreads out official-looking documents comprising of charts and diagrams. “We’ve prepared a sting operation to infiltrate the Galactic Headquarters for years. Unfortunately, we failed to gain any viable information because the Grunts are… well, imbeciles, and the Commanders are warier of new faces. We were still missing critical information such as floor plans and motives…” He smiles at his informant, who automatically looks down. “But thanks to Cynthia, we can enact the Operation much sooner than expected.”

Cynthia swallows the lump in her throat. “How soon are we talking about?” she says into her hands.

If Looker notices her discomfort, he doesn’t show it. “Why, we’re ready to go as soon as tomorrow. In fact, I’ve already set everything in place.”

_T-Tomorrow...?_

Flint clenches his fists. “That’s great! Now we’ll finally take those Galactic punks off the streets for good.”

“It’s all thanks to you, Cynthia,” Bertha says. _Oh no, why did she have to say that?_ Cynthia blinks away the pounding in her ears. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

“That’s why she’s the one-and-only Champion of Sinnoh!” Aaron says, spreading his hands.

“Finally, everything will be back to normal.” Lucian rightens his glasses. “I’m certain that we’ll find the stolen Time Gear, as well as your missing Pokemon, Cynthia.”

“Thanks, everyone,” Cynthia wants to say, but the words catch in her throat. The _normal_ Cynthia would’ve been ecstatic to finally take down this shadowy organization. Instead of words, Cynthia just nods.

Looker clears his throat. “Okay. I’ll tell all of you _exactly_ what’s happening tomorrow. Cynthia, I’ll make this short and simple: here’s what I need you to do…”

Everyone is grim as Looker finishes. “Okay, everyone. Preparations will be finished today. Tomorrow, we will finally apprehend the villainous Team Galactic and its nefarious leader, Cyrus. Thank you very much for your continued assistance. Interpol and the Sinnoh Police are in your debt.

“Now, let us look forward to the success of Operation **E.C.L.I.P.S.E**!”

* * *

Cynthia didn’t want to return to the room that night. To _his_ room. But she couldn’t risk raising suspicion and putting the whole Operation in jeopardy.

Sleep evades her. Her heart is about to explode. Her head is spinning. Her stomach feels like lead, and her breaths won’t stop quivering. She’d called Garchomp earlier, but the Pokemon strangely refused to look at her, as if it could sense her shame.

_Shame? Shame for what? For Cyrus taking advantage of my weakness and brainwashing me? For being fed his lies and actually_ believing _that he has a human heart? Shame for actually thinking that Cyrus could be my—_

\-- _No. Stop it, Cynthia._ _That’s what he wants. He wants to keep you close so you won’t hinder with his plans. He’s the master manipulator._

_Tomorrow, everything will be over. This whole damn charade will finally end._

Cynthia doesn’t hear the door open. She happens to peek from her covers, and that’s when she sees him.

“How long have you been standing there?” she screams, her voice almost betraying the _secretive_ part of the Operation.

Cyrus merely tilts his head. He can’t be read so easily anymore. A perfect wall of ice shields his face, dividing the distance between them.

“Are you hungry?” he says in dead monotone.

“No,” Cynthia whispers, hiding herself behind her hair. “Please leave me alone.”

Cyrus’s brow furrows, but he respects her wishes. His blank eyes scan the room. She hears him take a painful breath as he searches for words.

“During breakfast…” he trails off. Cynthia keeps listening despite herself. Cyrus’s face scrunches in frustration, but not directed towards her. “Lately, I’ve… The hat can easily be replaced…” He pauses again. She notices that his hands are hidden behind his back, and that they show the slightest hint of a tremble.

Cyrus looks like his whole row of teeth is hurting. “I… am aware that I am not the most receptive person… but… but if you have any concerns, I am here to listen.” His flat voice wavers more than once. 

Cynthia almost doesn’t hear him over the deafening pounding in her head. He focuses his gaze on something intangible in the distance. A hush settles over the room.

Then Cynthia buries her face into the pillow. _Why? Why is he making me feel this way? How can he keep pretending that nothing had happened? How can he keep **toying** with my emotions... like it’s _**nothing**?

When Cyrus speaks again, his voice is stiff. “That is all. I apologize for wasting your time. I will leave now.” Footsteps as they turn. Then a pause.

“Good night, Cynthia.” And then he leaves without waiting for a reply. Cynthia grabs the pillow closer to her face and pulls away in surprise.

When had she started to cry?


	6. Operation E.C.L.I.P.S.E.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia confronts Cyrus. Mistakes were made on both sides.

_The bullies returned today._ Why me out of everyone else? What did I ever do? _He even moved to the Beach Cave all the way down the shore, but they still came after him._

_They yanked his robot before he can pull back. They laughed and dashed it across the sand. No mediocre machine can withstand that strong an impact, so he could only watch as his laborious hours of dedication shattered into rusty nuts and bolts. Some fragments grazed his skin, and for a moment, the world went red._

_“I know you can talk.” The sneer belonged to the head of the group, a precocious girl whose family owned a majority of complexes near the Beach. “At least cry or something.”_

 _“He’s a freak, see?” Her lackeys consisted of a group of rowdy boys. The boys rushed forward and planted shoes onto his back. He remained curled in his position, praying that he could withstand, that_ they _wouldn’t find out that he dirtied his clothes, that if he laid perfectly still, the bullies will get bored and leave._

_“Hey, maybe he’ll cry if we take his Zubat!” He hugged his knees closer. The Zubat stayed perfectly still in his arms, as if it could sense that its life depended on it. Soon his body grew numb to their kicks, but he couldn’t tune out the verbal attacks._

Just how long have I been in here?

_“Stop!” Another voice. A voice he didn’t remember. They stopped kicking. “Why are you still kicking him when he’s down?”_

 _“Listen up, new kid,” the ringleader snorted. “Just because you’re new here, I’ll let you off the hook. This is the_ **freak** _of Sunyshore.” She made sure to give emphasis to that word. “Everyone knows that. He just pretends that he can’t talk just so he can feel special!”_

_“You don’t know that! I bet you didn’t even give him a chance!”_

 _“Tch. Listen, new kid. I like you. I really do, m’kay? Stay away from this_ **freak** _or you’ll catch whatever disease he has. Let your friends handle this.”_

 _“HAH! You call yourselves my friends? My friends don’t bully someone when they can’t speak up for themselves!”_ What was that girl talking about? _He didn’t dare raise his head, but his chest had become so tight that it hurt._

It hurts so much.

_“New girl. What are you doing?!”_

_“Y’all a bunch of bullies! You can all forget about being my friends!”_

_A silence. First came the snickers, then came the obnoxious laughter. “Oh, new girl, you just made a dangerous enemy. One word from my Father, and you’re_ out _of here.”_

_Then the rich girl’s voice rose. “Fine. Stay with this_ **freak _._** _You think that being a new kid must make you so special, huh? I can’t stand the sight of you!_

_“Boys! Give her cute little face a makeover!”_

No, don't! _He finally raised his head to warn her. But the strange girl simply stood her ground. She summoned a small, shark-like dragon from a Poke ball._

_“Gible, use Draco Meteor!”_

_The group staggered back as the petite dragon opened its jaw. “You’re crazy!" the rich girl screeched. "You’ll pay for this, freaks!”_

_They tripped over themselves as they fled screaming from the cave._

_Then the girl turned to him, her golden curls bouncing with every nod of her head. “I lied,” she said with a toothy grin. “Gible doesn’t know Draco Meteor yet.”_

_He stared at her, mouth agape._

_“You’re hurt pretty badly. Here.” She offered her hand. He recoiled and looked away. He forced himself up to his knees while fighting back the waves of pain that gnawed on his body._ If I just sit here for a bit more, the salty Beach air would numb the wounds.

_“Hey.” She’s still here? He shielded himself with his hand. The Zubat fluttered from his grasp and observed him with its mouth._

_“You were protecting this Zubat?” She attempted to poke her head through his defenses. He would’ve buried his whole face into his palms if they didn’t hurt so much. Right now, he had to pick up the remnants of his robot off the cavern floor._

_Something grabbed his hand. He flinched violently and glared at her. Her eyes widened, and she released him immediately._ Why is she still around? What had she planned to accomplish by standing up for me?

 _“Go home,” he growled. The girl gasped. He kept his eyes on picking the wires off the ground. He heard footsteps retreating._ Good. She left.

_For some strange reason, his chest began to hurt again._

_But then her golden hair peeked into his peripheral vision. She had knelt beside him and was picking up the scraps of his robot. She noticed his quizzical look and flashed a warm, radiant grin._

_Why was his heart pounding so suddenly?_

_“I don’t think you’re a freak,” she was saying. Her eyes were as bright as the moon. “I think you’re the nicest boy I’ve ever met.” The Zubat hovered to his eye level. He turned his attention to the curious bat. Even though it lacked eyes, it nuzzled its head against his cheek._

_And she laughed. It was a merry, twinkling sound. “Even Zubat likes you! Oh, look. Gible’s coming to see the commotion.” The dragon sniffed him and cocked its head. “Wow. Interesting. She usually bites strangers.”_

_“Why?” he muttered. The girl blinked. “Why did you stand up for me?”_

_A silence. She peered at him as if she’d misheard. “They were hurting you.”_

_He frowned. “But they were your friends. Now you’ll just be bullied too.”_

_The look she was giving him created a constricting chain around his neck. His throat felt very dry._ Was it the cave? Was it the salinity in the air that had penetrated skin?

_And when she spoke again, her voice was very, very stern. Like an adult’s. “I don’t want to be friends who only hurts others.”_

_“But you’ll get hurt too. You’ll gain nothing from defending me. It's not worth it.”_ Am I coming down with a cold? _He felt feverish._ It's all my fault, but what could I have done? She didn’t deserve to go through any of that. She should've just left and never turned back.

_She laid a gentle hand on his cheek. He stiffened but didn’t pull away. She stared into his eyes, as if trying to read what words he had left unspoken._

_“Look at you. You’re bleeding all over. It’s already bruising. What are your parents going to say?”_

_“They won’t know,” he muttered and dropped his gaze._

_“Oh. Here. I have some bandages. Stay still.” He surprised himself by complying. Her small fingers clumsily jabbed his face. He lost track of how many times he yelled from the pain. She lost track of how many times she said sorry._

_The Pokemon seemed to be laughing._

_After she was done, his face felt puffy. The art on his arms looked like a doctor had played connect-the-dots with a scalpel while incapacitated. Some bandages were already becoming undone._

_“Ooops.” The girl’s face had gone deep red. She stared at the ground with quivering lips._

_He marveled at the mess on his skin. “Thank you.” Her head snapped up at his words. Her jaw dropped… and then she grinned. A blossoming smile full of warmth and kindness._

_Perhaps he_ was _running a spontaneous fever after all._

_“What’s your name?” she said after they’ve picked the ground clean._ Oh. She’s still here.

Wait. What did she… _He blinked._ Did she say what I thought she’d said? _The Zubat from earlier bashed its head against his chin to bring him back to earth._

_She laughed, and his heart fluttered. “Fine. I’ll go first. My name’s Cynthia.” She extended her hand again. “It’s my first time coming to Sunyshore for the summer.”_

_“Cynthia?” he echoed, still staring at her hand. “Like the moon?”_

_Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Wow! So you know of the Sinnoan legends too?” She beamed again and showered the cave with light. “My grandmother suggested that name. Now…what about you?”_

_The boy bit his lips. Then very, very, slowly, he accepted her invitation. “Pleased to meet you, Cynthia. My name is…”_

* * *

…

“…rus.”

“…Cyrus?”

Cyrus’s mind snap back to reality. Saturn is hovering over him, his face scrunched with worry.

“Master Cyrus?” the Commander says again, his voice faltering.

“Commander Saturn,” Cyrus mumbles after a minute. He quickly orients himself. His desk. His office. Veilstone Headquarters. The present.

“You okay, Boss?” Mars says. She’s standing right beside him. “You’ve been out of it recently. You have a fever again?”

Cyrus rubs his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, inhales sharply, and straightens. “I am fine.”

The Commanders don’t seem to buy it, but they don’t argue. Cyrus stares past the papers on his desk. Diagrams. Energy reports from the extracted Time Gear. Possible locations of the next four circled in red. The photo of when—

“You still kept this old thing, Cyrus?” Jupiter leans forward to peer into his face. He shifts his seat back.

“My desk lacked color,” Cyrus says tightly.

Mars points to the photo. “Aw, look at small Saturn! He looks so cute when he tries to mimic your death glare, Boss!”

“H-hey!” Saturn’s ears turn pink. “You’re the one missing two front teeth, Mars!”

“I think you both look cute.” Jupiter inspects the photo and makes a face. “Now, _me_ on the other hand… ugh.”

Cyrus resumes his work. “That’s how I usually look like, Commander Mars,” he says to the paper. His Commanders shut up. They glance at each other before dispersing to poke around his office some more.

Then Cyrus finally decides to test his curiosity. “Commanders. A question.”

“Yes, Boss?”

He hesitates. “Please give me your candid responses.”

The three exchange another silent dialogue. “Of course, Master Cyrus.”

Cyrus straightens even more. He laces his fingers and rolls the words around in his mind, repeatedly refining them before they can leave his mouth. “Do you… have something ‘precious’ in your life?”

They all stare at him with the same look as when Cynthia saw Honchkrow on his back.

“I-I’m sorry, Master Cyrus?”

“I meant exactly as I said. Something precious in your life… that you would protect at all costs.”

They haven’t taken their eyes off of him. Cyrus's stomach swims queasily.

“Of course I do,” Jupiter says, still looking straight ahead.

“I do have someone precious in my life,” Mars whispers, her ears flushing slightly.

“I’ll protect him despite what others might say,” Saturn says with utmost determination in his voice.

Cyrus nods slowly. “And if you can no longer hold that sentimentality… how would you feel?”

Another shared glance. Jupiter speaks, “I’ll have nothing left to fight for. I’ll be nothing without that someone to protect.”

“I feel the same way.” Mars is fidgeting with her feet. “That’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place.”

“That’s made me who I am today,” Saturn finishes, staring at Cyrus intently. _Why are all the Commanders looking at me so? Is it something behind me? Something on my face?_

“I see,” Cyrus says. There’s really no proper response to their answers.

“Sir?” Mars squeaks. “Is something wrong?”

Cyrus tilts his head. He stands and clasps his hands behind his back. “I am not sure,” he whispers almost to himself. _Where is this hesitation coming from? This uncertainty? This foolish sentimentality…_

_Ah. It’s from the weakness in my heart and my own incomplete spirit. It always is._

But out loud, Cyrus says, “Time has frozen in a remote lake near Snowpoint City. This is a recent phenomenon, as I have confirmed it myself this morning.”

Jupiter blinks. “You flew all the way up there, Boss?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Commander. I walked there.” Their boss was never known to crack jokes. “Regardless, it affirms my theory that the Time Gears are just second mechanisms in controlling the flow of time.”

Saturn’s brows dip. “But time stopped when we took that Treeshroud one!”

“Time in the _region_ , Commander. There are no Time Gears within the vicinity of Snowpoint City, however.” He walks over to the windows overlooking the city. “If time was already out of balance before the first Time Gear was taken, then we might be looking at a bigger picture: Regardless of whether or not we collect the four other Time Gears, time will continue to unravel until the world grinds to a halt.”

His words usher in a chill that pushes pins into their hearts.

“S-so.” Mars is still struggling to wrap her head around such a damning revelation. “But isn’t our whole plan to freeze time and use the Time Gear’s energy to restart everything?”

Cyrus blinks for a little too long. “Yes. That was our plan. That _is_ our plan.” Again, his ears aren’t registering his words. He repeats the phrase to himself until the ringing stops.

Saturn spreads his hands. “That just means we have less work to do.”

Cyrus is still perturbed. _Something isn’t sitting right._ He hates the feeling that he’d overlooked something. Hates the feeling of an incomplete plan.

The original idea was straightforward: collect the mythical Time Gears and harness their energy to recreate the flow of time, now without emotion and spirit as the root of conflict. Now the little details begin to emerge: _What caused time to stop in the first place? Who, or what created the Time Gears? Such trivial things that governed the entire flow of time… yet, if the Time Gears were only secondary, then what is the greater power at play here?_

The more questions roll through his head, the more frustrated he grows with himself. He’d planned everything down to the dot. Everything since he built the company from the ground up. When did he get so… sloppy?

_Oh._ Cyrus stares into his own pathetic reflection. _Of course. Her._

_The flickering flame in a heartless machine._

“Cyrus?” Jupiter’s voice brings him back to earth. He recomposes himself and turns.

“I’m listening.”

The Commanders trade another glance between themselves. Mars takes a deep breath. “It’s about the Champion.”

_Cynthia._ The very mention of her name stirs up the memories he’d supposedly buried in the darkest recesses of his heart. He keeps his voice casual. “What of her?”

“Um… did you… know her before?” Saturn coughs, quickly looking away to avoid his boss’s glare.

“And why would you say that?”

Jupiter purses her lips. “You know why. The way you treat to her, Cyrus The way you look at her. The way you _speak_ to her. It’s almost as if you two had something before you became enemies.”

Cyrus blinks. _How… unpleasantly perceptive of them, although I expect no less from my second-in-arms. But still, was it that obvious? Did I mess up? Again?_

Whenever his thoughts would ramble, Cyrus finds linking his arms behind his back to be a reassuring gesture. He can control himself if things get out of hand.

“We met once as children,” he says slowly while keeping his focus straight ahead. “Though I doubt she remembered it ever happening.”

The Commanders’ shocks are evident. “S-so,” Jupiter gasps. “Was she the one you told me about?”

"The one on the newspapers?" Saturn mutters. 

Cyrus suddenly notices the tremble in his hands. _I’ll still have to work on that. It’s a good thing the Commanders don’t see it._ “Yes… She used to come by each summer. We were merely strangers in each other’s company. Needless to say, she still lingered around until…” He spins back to the windows and curses himself for letting that spark of sentimentality touch his words.

“What happened?” Mars whispers.

“She moved on."

“So _that’s_ why you keep helping her.” Saturn sounds a bit annoyed. A bit _hurt_ , even.

Cyrus gives a light shrug and turns back. “No, I merely owed her a favor,” he states with cold finality. “I only intended to make sure she was well enough to walk before sending her home.”

_I never planned for her to stay as long as she did._ He leaves this unsaid.

“She’s regaining her memories,” he continues, the distant look returning to his eyes. “From her recent behavior, she has indeed remembered Team Galactic. She knows that we’re her enemies.”

The realization presses on the air like a great leaden weight. “What are you going to do now, Boss?” Saturn says softly.

Crobat perches on his arm. “What I should’ve done a long time ago, Commander Saturn. I made a mistake, and I intend to fix it.” He gives his Pokemon a terse nod. “Ready your Supersonic, Crobat. She’s been a nuisance to my ambitions for long enough.”

Cyrus can feel the trepidation in the room oozing out the windows. The Commanders are solemn, but they know what must be done.

_But what about Cynthia’s memory loss?_ That sickly sentimentality presses a cold finger to his heart. _If the past still mattered, will you tell her? Will you tell her that you spent countless nights connecting the clues to her incident? That you came up with a profile about her attacker? Will you tell her that while you refuse to believe that_ that _person_ _would dare hurt her, the evidence is irrefutable proof?_

_Will you tell her that the person responsible for her fall is someone from the E—_

**SLAM!**

The door flings open, the impact slapping him from his thoughts. The Commanders scramble into position, Poke balls in hand.

“Champion,” Cyrus speaks from behind his mask.

Cynthia jabs a finger to his face. “I need to talk to you. Alone.” Her voice drips with venom. Even her eyes are hard as pure silver itself.

Crobat shifts impatiently on his shoulders. Cyrus lifts his chin. “My Commanders are going nowhere, although I assure you that they won’t interfere in our conversation.”

Cynthia glowers at the people in question. “No,” she snaps, returning to Cyrus. “I need to talk to you and you alone. It’s important.”

“Boss!” His Commanders are ready to act on his signal. Cyrus measures Cynthia with cold indifference.

_It's the same look as when we first met again._

“Very well,” he finally says. “Commanders Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter, please wait outside.”

Saturn’s face contorts with rage. “Boss! We can’t leave you alone with her!”

Mars is also clenching her teeth. “What if she—”

“Commanders, _now_.” They freeze at his voice. “Wait outside. This will be over soon.”

“B-But—”

Cyrus waves a dismissive hand, but his eyes tell a different story. Mars clicks her tongue. Saturn lets out an angry hiss. Jupiter glares poison at Cynthia. After a few breathless seconds, they sluggishly shuffle out of the office.

When the door clicks shut, Cyrus turns back to the Champion before him. “You wish to tell me something, Cynthia?”

Cynthia’s lips twist into a snarl. “I remember everything now, you manipulative freak.”

* * *

For the briefest of moments, so fleeting that it only occurs within a heartbeat of time, Cyrus’s frozen mask slips at her words. But it happened so fast that when she blinks, all she sees is that cold, empty glare set on his impassive face.

“I see,” Cyrus says, his monotone much chillier than she remembers. The Crobat on his shoulder does a double-take, as if she had said something something that should have never seen the light of day. 

“I know who you are.” Cynthia fights back the tremors in her heart. “I know what Team Galactic’s diabolical plans are. I know that it was you who to—no-- _stole_ that Time Gear. That it was _you_ who orchestrated this whole charade.”

Cyrus merely tilts his head. He’s standing tall, his legs planted evenly apart, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I met Flint. He told me everything, so your lies won’t work on me anymore, _Cyrus._ ” His name sullies her tongue. “You pretended to have good intentions so you can keep an eye on me as you carried out your nefarious plans, right?”

He answers her with silence. Cynthia snorts and continues.

“You planned to steal all the Time Gears to incite the Planet’s Paralysis. Once that happens, you’ll create your lonely new world… your twisted delusion of paradise.” She sneers. “Am I right, Leader of Team Galactic?”

No reply. Not even a smirk.

Cynthia take a breath to prevent his silence from grating on her nerves. “I commend you for your patience. It must be so exhausting looking after an amnesiac, hmm? You were worried that I’d remember you. Lo and behold, you were shocked when I said your name. In the end, you wasted a lot of effort into convincing me that you actually have a heart.”

The memories of his smile are long dead. Of his dry, well-meaning attempts at small-talk. Of his welcoming presence and time. Breakfast never happened. Story time never happened. The bubbles on the beach were nothing more than a cruel joke.

Cynthia rubs her eyes. “Well. It worked. I honestly believed that you were my friend, Cyrus. Is that how you manipulate people into trusting you? Was that how you’ve brainwashed your Commanders? Your followers?” She sticks her chin to his agitated Pokemon. “Was that how you tricked your Golbat to evolve? Or did you _stole_ it like you _stole_ that Time Gear?!” Her voice was rising. Cynthia steadies a hand on her chest to calm herself. “Why’d you go through all that trouble just so I’ll foil your plans in the end?

“Dammit, Cyrus!” She glares at the Galactic Leader. “So you’re a robot now, huh? Say something!”

Silence. Numbing, ear-splitting silence. Then his eyes flash, and his lips unhinges.

“What else is there for me to say, Champion?” The coldness of his voice almost freezes off her ears. Cynthia growls and calls out Garchomp.

“So you admit that I’m right,” she says through gritted teeth. Meanwhile, Garchomp is staring at this scene with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“I commend you for seeing through my guise.” His voice is strained. His smirk is bitter. “I’d expect nothing more from the Champion of Sinnoh.” Crobat shakes its head, but he silences it with a frosty glare.

Cynthia returns a frozen smile of her own. “I’m ending this here, Galactic Leader Cyrus. I will not fall for the same mistake again!”

“Yes. And neither will I.” Cyrus stiffly juts his chin at her direction. Crobat launches into the air, its eyes flashing blood red… but whether that's from fury…

“Garchomp! Draco Meteor!” But instead of attacking, the land dragon swivels around and glowers at her as if she just told it to use Curse.

“Garchomp!” she snaps. “I said, use Draco Meteor!”

The Supersonic slams into the Pokemon before it can react. Its body shudders as it teeters to and fro. Cynthia curses under her breath. Given Garchomp’s high Attack, she can’t risk harming her Pokemon.

_Just give me a little more time…_

Cyrus is already on his next move. He towers before her, his mouth set in a frigid line as a blizzard seeps from his scowl. Gone is the familiarity of the past. Gone are the times of laughter and friendship.

They are strangers. They are enemies. They clash like night and day.

Then Cyrus glares straight at her. Their eyes meet again, but this time, there's nothing familiar about that. “Crobat. Supersonic.”

_So that's your plan, eh, you manipulative freak??! Just wait until--_

“BOSS!”

Cyrus freezes. Crobat also stops its attack when its Trainer suddenly snaps his head to the door.

“GET OUT, BOSS!” Mars screams from the other side. Her shrill voice rises over the sea of stampeding boots.

Cyrus’s face is frozen.

“THEY’RE HERE!” Saturn screeches.

Cyrus immediately lunges for the door, but Cynthia throws herself in front of it. “Let me pass, Cynthia!” _His voice… isn’t supposed to be like this._

“Over my cold, dead body!” she snaps. His eyes are too wide and too bright. Almost… frenzied. Like she’d just held his children hostage.

“Move aside, NOW!” Crobat aims another ray into her face.

“IT’S A TRAP!” Jupiter shrieks amidst muffled yelling. “GET OUT, CYRUS!”

Then the windows explode. Cyrus swivels around with utmost shock on his face. Glass and shrapnel fly everywhere. He doesn’t react as debris cuts across his skin. Cold, dry air rushes into the broken windows, scattering paper and shards. The floor trembles as if an earthquake had come from the sky.

The deafening beats of heavy propellers are tell-tale signs of emerging helicopters: large, black helicopters with INTERPOL emblazoned on their sides. All of them are occupied with armed soldiers in bulletproof vests with guns drawn.

Cyrus turns back. The doors break open to reveal more INTERPOL agents and Sinnoh Police with a horde of Luxio. They file into the room, creating a wall around Cynthia, their weapons trained on him.

Looker rushes to the front. Cynthia follows the detective. Flint, Bertha, Aaron, and Lucian also flutter in.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cyrus mutters. He’s glaring at Cynthia, but at the same time, not really seeing her.

“You’re under arrest, Cyrus of Team Galactic!” Looker booms, his trench coat flaring in the turbulent air. “We have your subordinates! There’s no use in fighting back!”

As if on cue, the agents drag in the thrashing Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter. Their face blanches when they glimpse their boss, his eyes wide and glassy, blood dripping from the cuts on his skin.

“BOSS!” Saturn screams, only to be silenced by an agent. Mars and Jupiter succumb to the same fate. Looker waves a hand to move them outside.

As they pass, Cynthia clearly feels their hatred prying open her spine.

Cyrus is still staring at the spot where his Commanders have been not a second ago. He doesn’t even react to Looker’s thunderous, “Surrender now! Put your hands in the air!”

A hand pats her shoulder. Cynthia jumps. Her nerves are way too raw than they’re supposed to be.

Flint is grinning. " _How can you laugh at a time like this?!"_ She wants to scream. “Thanks to Cynthia, we can finally apprehend you, Galactic criminal.”

Realization breathes life into Cyrus’s eyes. He turns so slowly that she can hear the tendons in his neck crack. Cynthia immediately looks away.

“I said hands up, Cyrus of Team Galactic!” Looker repeats in an even harsher voice. “There’s no escape! We have the building surrounded! It would be in your best interest to surrender entirely!”

Yes… Looker had the whole _city_ on lockdown, with troops positioned as far as Route 214. He wasn’t taking any chances: he even brought _snipers._

 _Snipers._ And in a twist of fate, Cynthia lifts her eyes. There’s a red dot on the back of Cyrus’s head. A red dot… connected to a red line…

_Oh no._

“CYRUS!” Was that her voice? Was that her screaming?

Cyrus jolts at his name, but it’s too late to dodge the bullet streaming for his neck. There wasn’t even the tell-tale sound of gunfire. The moment of impact drags across her eyes as if time is actually grinding to a halt.

Then Crobat hits the floor, the round butt of a bullet protruding from its head.

A shocked silence falls over the room. Cynthia can only watch as the Pokemon twitches in its own pool of blood.

“Who did that?!” Looker barks into his earphone. It’s the first time she’d ever seen him break character. “You’re not supposed to shoot! Who the hell pulled the trigger?!”

_“Detective, the soldier who did it isn’t responding!”_ the tinny voice sputters from the other end.

“DAMMIT!” Looker runs hands through his hair until he almost pulls out his roots. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! You… FINE! I’ll deal with them later!” Then his attention snaps back to Cyrus. “You! Surrender now, or we’ll be authorized to use force!”

But Cyrus isn’t looking at Looker. He’s staring down at his Crobat, whose body is growing colder each second. Cyrus isn’t blinking. He’s not… doing anything but gaping at his Pokemon with a turbulence of emotions raging through his eyes. His hands are trembling now, much more violently than she’d ever seen.

Then Cyrus raises his head… and Cynthia wishes that she never caught his glare. Pain. Hurt. Fury. Betrayal. The onslaught of emotions simmers beneath his frozen mask, spilling freely from its glaring cracks. Cynthia feels his anger permeating into her skin, coiling up her nose and choking her throat in an unforgiving vice grip.

_“Why would you do that?!”_ his eyes seem to scream. 

“Hands in the air, Cyrus!” Looker demands, signaling his legion to move forward.

But Cyrus never falters from the Detective’s threats. His own rage is smoldering from his eyes. He doesn’t even flinch at the guns aimed at his face. He doesn’t acknowledge them at all. All he sees is his Crobat and the woman who brought his **loathsome** emotions to the surface. **Vulgar** emotions that he’d cast away into the abyss of his heart.

Then Cyrus moves.

“He’s reaching for a weapon!” Lucian gasps. The force reacts with an instant order of Luxio’s Thunder Wave. Cyrus never had time to react before the blast hits him square in the chest. Paralysis snakes up his spine, the byproduct of energy escaping as violent convulsions down his body.

One Thunder Wave should be enough. Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there.

Cynthia watches in horror as a barrage of Thunder Waves rains down on Cyrus. The attacks pierce his core like a volley of arrows. He's thrown backwards by the impact—and he slams his head onto the desk.

The sickening **_CRUNCH_** lingers in her ears.

The room is silent as Cyrus crumbles to the floor. A blossoming crimson flower streaks from the metal desk, its origins pinpointed as being the gaping hole on the back on his head. His body twitches with powerful tremors, sparks hissing from his skin. Even after he stops moving, the electricity still at jerks his limbs like a reanimated corpse.

The color had drained from Looker’s face. “Who ordered you to discharge all the Luxio like that?” he roars to the mass, nostrils flaring, veins throbbing. “ _No one_ can survive multiple Thunder Waves, regardless if it doesn’t deal damage!”

“B-but, Sir,” one guard mutters. “He was reaching for a weapon.”

“THEN GO FIND IT!” Looker snaps. The soldiers hurry to Cyrus’s broken form and frisks his things.

“No weapon. Just this Potion bottle.”

Looker forcibly drags a hand through his hair. A few grey hairs are beginning to sprout. “WHY THE HELL WAS HE REACHING FOR A POTION? IS HE _MAD_?!”

“A diversion?” Aaron squeaks. Cynthia clamps his mouth with deliberate harshness.

“I don’t know!” Looker rakes a hand through his face. He squeezes his eyes, then reopens them to a bloodshot glare. “Operation **E.C.L.I.P.S.E.** was successful… BUT YOU ALL BROKE PROTOCOL!” He huffs into his palm. “This is a disaster! Hurry up and take him away! Make sure the Crobat is transported to the Pokemon Center! There will be severe disciplinary matters! For all of you!”

The soldiers work quickly and efficiently to remove Cyrus and his Crobat. Cynthia stares after the soldiers as they haul his body the way they would handle an unwanted old doll.

And for some reason, it makes her blood boil.

“Collect all the evidence that might be useful for our case!” Looker’s voice is far away. Cynthia is vaguely aware of what the Elite Four is saying. She just knows that she nods at one point or another in the conversation.

Oh. They’re congratulating her for bringing that loathsome criminal to justice.

* * *

Cynthia barely remembers drifting out of the building to the cheers and roars of the crowd. The joyous praises and the barbed sneers at the fallen Galactic criminal.

“I just _knew_ he was bad news!”

“The whole lot of them, with their tacky outfits and bad hair! I’m glad they’re finally off the streets.”

“See, I told you there was something wrong with him! He doesn’t even look human…”

All Cynthia remembers from that fateful day is the feeling of blood rolling down her heart and the smell of burning flesh.

She just stopped the world’s destruction. _Then why am I not happy? I should be glad! I just stopped a madman from destroying the entire world!_

_I'm the hero! He's the villain!!_

So why does it feel like it was the other way around?

* * *

That night she was back in her room in the Sinnoh League. The bed is warm, but she still feels cold. Sleep should come easier now, but her brain won’t calm down. As the clock ticks in the distance, the revelations come to her in cold sweat.

One. That was raw, pure terror on his face when they took his Commanders away.

Two. Crobat had taken the bullet for its owner.

Three. He wasn’t reaching for a weapon. He was reaching for his Pokemon.

Four. He meant to use the Potion on Crobat, not on himself. 


	7. The Mystery Deepens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Operation's success did not wrap things up nicely as Cynthia hoped it would.

Weeks have passed since Operation **E.C.L.I.P.S.E.** ’s arguable success. Team Galactic was defeated and their leader captured. The stolen Time Gear was restored to Treeshroud Forest and revitalized the flow of time in the region.

There were whispers concerning the old Galactic Veilstone Headquarters. Under its heavy police tape and ground of broken glass, the building still seemed to harbor untold secrets. Given enough time, the existence of Team Galactic faded into memory but was still passed down as a warning by parents and as ghost tales for children.

Cynthia tried to stay out of the post-news buzz. But since her part in the Operation was no easy feat, it was impossible to escape the spotlight.

After all, she was the one who took down the villain and saved the world.

Her reputation swelled to unprecedented proportions. Everyone knew who she was, even outside of the region. She was bequeathed an informal new name: The Champion and Hero of Sinnoh. Consequently, the Sinnoh League was swamped with challenges both domestic and international. No records existed of anyone passing.

People have also whispered that the Champion lost her heart in the incident. _Her face when battling was cold, indifferent_ , they noticed. _Almost cruel._

And they quickly dismissed that thought as stress from such a heroic act.

Cynthia never cared for their words. Ever since _that_ day, something had broken inside her. Something vital had stopped ticking from within. A part of her was lost, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

Garchomp became unusually quiet. The land dragon would listen to her commands, but other than that it just drifted like a hollow shell of its former self. It wasn’t mad at her. It just looked… _disappointed_ , for lack of a better word. Cynthia felt that same ache in her heart whenever Garchomp’s forlorn eyes would sweep over her.

If Pokemon could talk, then she would never believe the stories Garchomp had to tell.

* * *

Looker visits her often, now that the Operation was over. She asks him—almost begged him—to give her any updates. She also confines that she hasn’t been sleeping well recently.

Regarding the rest of her Pokemon, Looker tells her that he’d be unsuccessful in locating them in the old Galactic Hideout. Could it be that they were held somewhere else? Maybe Cyrus _was_ telling the truth in that he didn’t steal her Pokemon? Perhaps. Either way, Looker assures her that he’ll keep a watchful eye out.

“I’m still investigating the incident with the sniper and Luxray.” That catches her attention. Looker sips his coffee--it’s his fourth one this morning—and squints. “It’s almost as if they’ve been…possessed. They recall blacking out and not remembering anything… aside from an inhuman voice implanting thoughts into their heads.” Cynthia listens with bated breath. Looker ends with a gruff, “A load of Leftovers, if you ask me. I’m still looking into the investigation. Flimsy, magical excuses, I will not accept!”

Then Cynthia finds her words. “What about him?”

Looker knows who she’s referring to. Even without name, there is only one person who occupies the Champion’s mind, at least of late.

“He’s regained consciousness. It took some stitches, but I don’t see him displaying any physiological pain. He told me that he was fine. I doubt it, though.” Looker drags a hand through his hair. It’s a bad habit that he picked up not long ago. “It’s the psychological aspect that I’m worried about… and since it’s impossible to read him…”

Cynthia ingests his words like salty chicken soup. Looker continues, oblivious to her sudden tenseness. “He’s cooperating with the investigation, but it’s… _difficult_ to make him talk. His Commanders were easier to crack, but they’re still very loyal to their leader.” Looker shudders at the memory. “It was like talking to a machine. He never blinked. I didn’t think he ever _breathed._ He wasn’t even fazed at the threats I had to deploy. Torture? Solitary? No. In all my years, I’ve never felt so apprehensive. I don’t think anything fazes that man anymore…”

Looker’s words expand and contract in her ears. Some words are loss, some retained. Cynthia’s mind is currently somewhere else as she listlessly collects snippets of the Detective’s ramblings.

_Is he eating? Is he sleeping enough? He’s so bony that he’ll break apart… but at least he’s awake now. At least he’s still ali—_

_Why is her heart hurting so much?_

“—The Crobat made a full recovery.” Cynthia snaps back to the present. Looker is still talking. He’s now on his ninth coffee. “We moved it with the rest of his Pokemon. Now, I still don’t understand why the _Crobat_ was shot instead? I clearly saw that sniping line on him. Snipers don’t usually miss…”

_I know why._ Cynthia keeps that thought to herself.

Looker sighs and rises. He seems to have physically aged since the Operation. The light brings out all his grey hairs. “Since the arrest of Team Galactic, we have decided to lift security off Treeshroud Forest. Everything’s been peaceful recently, and I admit it’s been draining our budget…

“Once again, thank you for your time, Cynthia. The rest of us will look for the next Time Gears’ locations based on the notes we took from Cyrus. Time is still slipping in other parts of the region, so we need to see that every Time Gear is safe and accounted for.”

Cynthia might’ve said something. She doesn’t remember it though. Instead, she nods and sees Looker out.

* * *

Life returns to the time it should’ve been before her incident. Strangely enough, some parts of her memory are still frustratingly in the dark. She’s confident that something else is suppressing her memories, but Looker told her that Cyrus claimed he had no hand in such a dubious act.

“Man, so many challenges!” Flint’s cheery voice breaks through her thoughts. Cynthia blinks. _Come back to earth, Cynthia!_ The Elite Four. Her closest friends and confidantes since she earned their respect while rising to become Champion.

_So why does she feel as if a rift had cut between them and her?_

“We have to keep up our game if we want to give them a challenge!” Aaron says.

“Agreed. Although, we’ve broken many spirits by crushing all opposition.” Lucian taps his glasses with a small smirk.

Bertha sits beside Cynthia. “Are you all right, dear? You’ve been out of it lately.”

Cynthia musters a weak smile. “Yes. Thank you. I’m just a little tired.”

“Good riddance of that criminal,” Lucian huffs. He isn’t aware of Cynthia’s face darkening.

“Lucian.” Bertha’s voice is sharp and curt.

Lucian frowns. “Ah. My apologies, Cynthia. Er… forget I ever said anything.”

Aaron smacks Lucian lightly on the back. “He’s just worried. He can be a jerk when he’s worried.”

Cynthia’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

Then Flint’s bubbly voice shatters the silence. “H,hey! Look at what my parents sent me!” He ambles into the room with a small box. “Here. Y’all take some: Sunyshore Coconuts! The best in Sinnoh!” He hands out the perfectly round shells. They have a faint, sweet, milky scent.

“These aren’t from an Exeggutor, right?” Aaron raises a suspicious eyebrow. Cynthia snorts while Flint looks a bit insulted.

“Shut up, bug boy! These were my favorite when I was a wee lad! We grew it right in our garden! Don’t knock until you try it, you jerk!”

“I’m about the same age as you!” Aaron shoots back but nevertheless cracks the coconut open and takes a hearty sip. His face reddens, much to Flint’s amusement.

“This is spectacular!” Lucian gasps.

“I agree.” Bertha finishes her coconut with grace. “Very soft and chewy. The milk just slides down your throat!”

For Cynthia, though, her brain barely registers the floral scent. Something about Flint’s words nag at her. “Flint,” she says.

“Yeah? Whassup, Cynthia? Are you rendered speechless by my coconut?”

“Um… yeah. It’s amazing.” She clears her throat. “So you grew up in Sunyshore?”

Flint crosses his arms. “Grew up? Cynthia, I was _born and bred_ in Sunyshore! I know everything! Tell me the landmark, the street, the market rotation, anything!”

_Here it goes. It’s worth a shot._ “When you were young… did you remember anything about a boy who’s usually by himself at the beach?”

The grin slides off Flint’s lips. “A boy? You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Cynthia. I knew a lot of people back then.”

_Right._ “He’s the type to be by himself… and he’s really good at making things with his hands.”

Cynthia is vaguely aware that everyone had stopped praising the coconut and is now staring at her. Flint scratches his head.

“Um… maybe. All I remember is my friends telling me to avoid the Beach Cave because a monster lived there or something.” His brow furrows. “Sorry I’m not much help, Cynthia. It’s also been a long while for me.”

“It’s okay, Flint.” Her words fail to reach her ears.

Aaron glances back and forth between the two of them. “What brought this on?” he asks.

Cynthia just gives a half-hearted shrug and returns to appreciating her coconut. “This thing is great, Flint,” she chirps. “Tastes just like sunshine.”

* * *

That night, Cynthia climbs on her bed to another restless sleep. Her brain is sprinting a marathon within her skull. No matter which position she takes, the pillow feels like a sheet of metal.

Time had given her the clarity she needs to piece her life together. Everything is fine now, except for the events leading to her memory loss. She’s confident of one thing, though:

She wasn’t on Cyrus’s trail. She was pursuing something else entirely. Something about racing against the clock, about time running out. And then something red, something bright, and falling rocks blocking her vision.

Cynthia gingerly touches the back of her head. There’s only a dull pain now; whatever had struck her in the head is only a distant memory. Then she suddenly thinks of _that_ day, when his head rammed against the desk and all the blood—

Cynthia jerks her head to the side so the thought can fall out the other ear. No. What’s done is done. She shouldn’t be overthinking this. He manipulated her. She realized her mistake and fixed it.

**End. Of. Story.**

The moon is bright and high in the starless skies. On a whim, Cynthia grabs the White Moonstone from her secret compartment and holds it to the light.

She had expected him to confiscate her belongings like he did with her Pokemon—if it was true, and she’s saying that it _was_ so—

_\--STOP OVERTHINKING ALREADY!_

Her memories confirmed that this is indeed a Moonstone. She remembered his words clearly as if it was yesterday. A Moonstone coated in precious white like the celestial body itself. It looks more for decoration than an evolutionary stone, however.

_“The name ‘Shirona’ means ‘White Moon’ in the stories of ancient Sinnoh,” the boy had said. His hair fluttered in the beach breeze. glowing in the crimson sun._

_“That’s my explorer name, then,” Cynthia had replied with a grin. “Cynthia. Shirona. The moon. Oh, don’t forget about you! That Red Sunstone… doesn’t it also reflect your name in Sinnoh legends? Your name…”_

“What was your name?” Cynthia whispers out loud. She glares at the ceiling as if expecting the walls to talk. The frustration eats at her and extinguishes the already flickering possibility of sleep.

Cynthia turns the stone around. What could this particular inscription be? There were no records of such a pattern in the Canalave Library, nor in any of the wall carvings back home. Whatever it was, it looked too important to be a coincidence. Maybe it’s actually the key to a mythical place?

But if she _does_ discover the truth, then their promise of finding the treasure together will be broken.

And with that thought brings another wave of frustration. _Why the hell did she tell Cyrus all of that?_ All of her private, most intimate moments?! Was he just enlightening her by listening? Maybe he just let her ramble for the sake of rambling.

_But then again, he was listening very intently to her story. At that time, there was a nostalgic feeling about this expression that she couldn’t place._

Cynthia finally blacks out some point, still clutching the White Moonstone. The stone gives off a gentle warmth against her bosom.

And as her sleep shifts to darkness, Cynthia makes out familiar outlines in the shadows. _Water. Fog. A lake, perhaps? A green glow that makes her heart race for no reason._

_Then a form. A person. A Pokemon. Wait. She knows that person. She attempts to wade through the chilly waters to the other side of the crevice, but the shadowy form thrusts its hand, and then the ground gives way beneath her, and Cynthia falls into the abyss._

* * *

“Cynthia?”

Cynthia’s eyes snap open. She jolts up in bed and glances back at the pillow. It’s drenched in cold sweat.

“Cynthia?” That voice again. It’s coming from her door. Is it that person’s…? That person from her nightmare? It sure sounds like it—

“Cynthia.” Then the door opens, and all the doubts vanish from her mind.

“Lucian,” she breathes. The man nods curtly and allows himself in. He stops in the doorway, though—

_\--just like him—_

\--his eyes shielded by his glasses.

“Cynthia, there’s a problem.” Something’s wrong. Her spine has started tingling. The room feels much, much colder than it should.

“What is it?” Cynthia steadies her hand against her chest. “Lucian, you’re not making sense.”

The man remains unreadable behind the glare of his glasses. Every passing second makes something scream inside her body. The trepidation is heavy enough to break her shoulders.

“There’s something strange in Victory Road,” comes Lucian’s low voice.

“Something strange?” she echoes.

Lucian nods. “I was patrolling the area until I noticed that something… didn’t seem right. I’d planned to go by myself, but I wanted the extra assurance in case something did happen to me.”

Cynthia tucks away her Moonstone, slides off her bed, and grabs her coat. The chill had reached her chest. “Did you tell the others?”

Lucia lowers his head to look at her. His eyes are dark. “I didn’t want to wake them. But you, Cynthia, sounded like you were having a nightmare. I apologize if I did startle you, but… you were screaming.”

_Oh._ Cynthia bites her lower lip with more force than necessary. Lucian waits, but shifts his gaze away when he knows that she prefers to keep it to herself.

“It’s fine,” Cynthia mutters. She repeats it until she believes it. “I can help. I wasn’t sleeping to begin with.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. It’s my duty to ensure peacetime in Sinnoh.”

Lucian blinks and chuckles softly. “Of course. Thank you for your help, Cynthia.”

She nods, her old, determined smirk back on her lips. “Show me the place, Lucian.”

* * *

The moon is nowhere in the sky… or rather, it’s buried beneath a mass of black, ominous clouds. The air is denser and colder than she remembers from this morning. In fact, her breaths come as ragged white puffs.

Garchomp stays close to its owner. The Pokemon’s welcoming presence calms her raw nerves. The land dragon is still wary, and it would often steal an unreadable glance at Lucian.

“So,” Lucian begins as they pick up the pace. “I was making rounds earlier when I heard a peculiar sound… a high-pitch frequency reverberating against metal. A machine, perhaps? _What was a machine doing late at night in Victory Road?_ I thought to myself. We’re closed for the day, so it struck me as odd for a Trainer to have wandered in like that.”

Cynthia feels something slithering down the nape of her neck. She whirls back to find… nothing.

“Cynthia?” Lucian’s voice is distant.

“I thought I felt something.” Garchomp sniffs the air and hisses. Its teeth pulsate with heat. The Pokemon spreads its wings before Cynthia.

“Lucian, Garchomp’s sensing something.” Cynthia looks up. “Lucian? Lucian?” Her voice cracks when she repeats it. Panic is rising to her mouth. “Lucian, this is _not_ funny!”

_No, Lucian would never run off like this. He appreciates but never initiates tasteless pranks._

“Lucian!” she yells again. Garchomp suddenly snarls.

Then a bright light blinds her vision. Fog? No, this is too heavy to be fog. Too sudden.

“Garchomp, Twister! Dispel this fog!”

The land dragon rears its head and unleashes a vortex of hot air from its mouth. The mist dissipates in the blink of an eye.

And standing before her is someone all too familiar. She’d seen him before, although rather briefly. It doesn’t cross her memory until the golden “G’ catches in the light.

“You,” Cynthia hisses, the anger slapping her back to clarity. “You’re part of Team Galactic. You’re… you’re…”

The old man’s lips part into an unnerving smile. “Why, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Champion, though I am saddened you don’t remember my name.” He doesn’t seem to be holding any Pokemon, aside from a dubious black device in his hand.

“I thought Looker arrested every last one of you crooks,” she growls. She locks eyes with Garchomp. The dragon prepares its attack. 

The scientist throws back his head and laughs—a deep, uncanny laugh that sends her stomach flipping into itself. “Oh, you mean that sorry display of a show back at Veilstone? It was _his_ fault that he fell, that immature, overthinking buffoon. I left that ragtag band of misfits a long time ago for a more… well-paying position. One befitting of the great Charon!”

The way he referred to _him_ makes her blood boil. Just like _that_ time, and she still doesn’t know why it affects her so. “I’ll just arrest you again then! Garchomp, use Sand attack!”

Garchomp raises its arms, but Charon has already pressed the button on his device. The trees quiver around them as the ground trembles. A giant robot emerges from the cracked earth and aims its laser down on Cynthia.

“You’ve interfered with our plans long enough, Champion!” _Ours?_ Charon’s voice is… different now. Heavier. More metallic, as if he’s speaking through a tube. He sneers at Cynthia with glazed eyes. “Master Dialga is not pleased with your meddling!”

_Master Dialga?_ The laser’s glow intensifies with Charon’s cackling. Cynthia grabs Garchomp and leaps before the blast vaporizes them both.

Not good. She only has Garchomp. But this man… this remnant of Team Galactic had said something very intriguing… something that sparks a light in the sealed corridors of her memory.

_Dialga._

“What do you mean by ‘Master Dialga?!’” Cythina rolls away before the heat incinerates both Pokemon and Trainer.

“Master Dialga warned us specifically about you two. You possess the very things that can hinder the grand plan!” Another blast of light. Garchomp has gone very still, but she can feel its heart clashing with her own. “And I, Charon, have been chose to ERADICATE ALL RESISTANCE.”

His body suddenly stiffens. And when Cynthia peeks from under the smoke, she sees something _else_ leering back at her. Something primal. Something inhuman.

“IF IT WERE NOT FOR YOUR MEDDLING, THAT PEST WOULD HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED BY NOW.” Yes, that voice resonating through Charon’s throat is far from human. It sounds ancient, as if echoing from the annals of time itself. “UNLIKE THE OTHERS, THESE TWO MINIONS HAVE DONE THEIR PURPOSES QUITE WELL.”

_Two minions._ And judging from the voice’s implications, these two minions are very close. If one of them is Charon, then the other…

“BEGONE FROM MY SIGHT!” Charon’s body jerks to slam the button. The robot shudders as its body swells with a brilliant, deadly light.

“Who are you?” Cynthia screams as cracks push from the robot’s skeleton.

“I AM DIALGA. GOD OF TIME.”

“Garchomp, use Dig!” she whispers. The land dragon wastes no time folding itself and its owner to the ground until a deafening shriek slices through the air, and the robot shatters into a shower of harmless nuts and bolts.

“Cynthia!” Footsteps thunder on the broken earth. Lucian stumbles over the debris and pulls her into a crushing hug. Only then does Cynthia notice that the world is still spinning.

“Where have you been, Lucian?” Cynthia whispers.

“Where have _you_ been?” All the composure is gone from his face. “When I turned around, you were gone! And then this weird fog rolled in, and when I realized that I lost you, I… I…”

“Woah.” Flint’s voice is too soft for someone like him. “What happened here?” He stares at the uprooted ground, the fallen trees, the deep gouges in the earth from the laser, the mechanical shell lying under the waterfall.

Cynthia shakily shrugs off Lucian’s hands. He understands. She grips Garchomp tightly into her chest until their hearts match cadence.

“Charon attacked m-me,” she finally gasps. Their faces freeze in shock. Under the moonless sky, they look almost ghastly.

“C-Charon?” Lucian jerks his head around the vicinity. There’s no trace of the mentioned scientist. “From Team Galactic? I thought Looker took care of them!”

“I don’t recall seeing him back then,” Bertha says softly. “Maybe he escaped beforehand?”

Cynthia shakes her head. “H-he said that he quit a long t-t-time ago.”

Lucian is scowling. “Curse him! I should’ve known that he was coming for you, Cynthia! I would’ve been much more careful! I should’ve never… Tsk! I bet you that he and that Galactic criminal are in cahoots to exact revenge!”

_No. That doesn’t make sense._ Charon acted as if it was in self-interest. He and Cyrus never got along. The fact that he was controlled by another entity also raised doubts, especially from something calling itself after the mythical Pokemon that governed Time.

Aaron emerges from the rubble with something in his hands. “Cynthia… I think these are yours.”

Garchomp yelps in shock. Cynthia numbly accepts the Pokeballs from Aaron and calls her Pokemon. Spiritomb. Roserade. Togekiss. Lucario and Milotic. They all flood to their Trainer, throwing themselves into a big mess on the debris-ridden ground.

“O-okay. T-that’s e-enough. I’m glad to s-see you all too…” Cynthia swallows painfully. She attempts a laugh to quell the rushing blood in her head. Garchomp squeaks and dabs its arm against her cheek so the tears won’t go to her mouth.

Meanwhile, Flint is trying to calm Lucian. “Lucian, it’s okay. She’s safe. It’s not your fault that Charon hurt her.”

Lucian snaps his head back to glare at Flint. “It’s all because I made her go with me to check on this disturbance! I should’ve known that it was a dastardly plan from that criminal!” He drags a hand through his face. “That bullet shouldn’t have missed—”

Bertha’s hand flies across his face. Lucian blinks and gapes at her in a mixture of shock and anger. Aaron and Flint quietly retreats into the background.

“Watch your mouth, Lucian!” Bertha snaps. “Regardless of whether he’s a criminal, we _never_ wish harm upon another person! _Especially_ since you’re part of the Elite Four!” Then she drops her voice. “Are you _blind_ to Cynthia’s feelings? She’s still affected since _that_ day, and your ‘wishful thinking’ might push her off the edge! Get your nose out of those dusty books and come back to reality, Lucian!”

No one speaks except for Cynthia, who’s busy consoling her Pokemon. Bertha glares at Lucian until he falters.

“I’m sorry,” Lucian mutters. “I…I’m not thinking straight.”

Aaron puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “We’re _all_ tired, Lucian. What matters now is that Cynthia is safe. Charon might’ve gotten away, but we have Looker and each other. I swear to you, on my seat as the Elite Four, that he’ll face justice on day, Lucian.”

Lucian pinches his temples. Flint flashes a weak smile but says nothing.

Then they regroup around Cynthia. She hides her face behind a curtain of hair.

“Cynthia, dear,” Bertha begins gently. “Let’s get you back to bed. You’ve had a long night.”

Cynthia has no strength left to protest. She silently recalls her Pokemon, except for Garchomp, whom she insists on holding. The trip back to the Sinnoh League is a blur until they see her to her bed.

There are so many questions. So many gears that don’t fit in. What she thought was a simple case of memory loss is just a fragment into a larger, darker picture.

Maybe tomorrow she’ll have her thoughts all sorted out, at least enough to be coherent.

Cynthia drifts off to sleep with Garchomp on her stomach and the White Moonstone grasped in her hands. Outside her windows, the moon peeks from the sea of clouds. The chill from earlier still lingers in the room. The ticking of the clock grates against her ears as if it’s counting down to the final hour.

* * *

_In her dream, she’s staring into a yawning chasm. A pair or red eyes leered back at her from the darkness, the only light in a world where time had grind to a halt._


	8. The Unthinkable Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia goes into the forest. Then she takes matters into her own hands.

Looker comes over first thing in the morning with a box of black coffee as he plants himself into the chair. He’d aged since their last meeting, which wasn’t that long ago either. Comes to show how much stress can affect the body.

Cynthia presents her story. She tells the facts and leaves out her enigmatic dreams. She loses count of how many expressions cross the Detective’s face, expressions she’d never thought a man of his profession would be capable of showing. At some point his jaw literally drops to the floor. His eyes widen, narrow, and bulge. The coffee grows cold well before the halfway mark.

The Elite Four have their own reactions to her story. Flint’s usual mirth is nowhere to be seen. Aaron is rigid as a statue. Bertha looks as if she’s attending a funeral. Lucian’s eyes are hidden behind his glasses the whole time.

When Cynthia finishes, no one speaks for a good while. Even if they do, what can you possibly say to beat _that_?

Looker fails to find his voice for the first time, and when he _is_ successful, he sounds like a child before puberty hits. “S-so Charon attacked you? And he was possessed by something calling itself ‘Dialga?’ After the _mythical_ Guardian of Time? And that he or it had done this before through minions, who might very well be hiding in plain sight?

“And it was _Charon_ who took your Pokemon?!”

Cynthia nods slowly. _Sounds about right._

“Wait.” Looker seizes a coffee cup. “Wait, wait, wait. How did _Charon_ obtain your Pokemon in the first place? If what he said was indeed true, and that he quit Team Galactic a long time ago?”

Cynthia shakes her head. There are still so many loose ends in her tale.

“Because they’re in cahoots,” Lucian mutters, low enough for Cynthia not to hear and for Bertha to shoot him down with a glare.

Looker does his habit again. “When you say… ‘possession,’ it does come to mind the story the agents told me. Some voice that wasn’t theirs. The blackout and the inhuman grip on their minds. Yes, now that I think about it, they did mention something about a ‘Master Dialga.’”

That name cuts Cynthia’s breath short. Her memories bash against the lock created by her mind.

Looker taps a finger against his chin. “And this ‘Time God’ is hijacking brains to erase all resistance? It said that Charon was one of the two closest minions… so where’s the other one?” No has an answer. Looker huffs hotly, and then his brows crease. “Wait a minute… that reminds me… Are any of you familiar with the recent spike in crime?”

“Yep.” Flint’s face is uncharacteristically stern. “We’ve been told that it might connect to the fact that time was going out of whack.”

Looker scowls. “That’s what it looking like. And I recall the perpetrators mentioning something about a ‘Master’ and a ‘God of Time.’ Something about time stopping and that nonsense. I can’t believe it’s all coming together…” Cynthia notices how dark the shadows under his eyes have become. “If that’s the case, then we’re not looking at a case of isolated incidences anymore.

“We’re now dealing with an experienced maniac that can take over people’s minds. One calling themselves after the God of Time.”

_Something still doesn’t sit well with that statement._ “Looker,” Cynthia says. “What if what we’re dealing with isn’t… _human_?”

Everyone stares at her. Looker snaps his jaw shut so that his brain can rewire itself.

“W-What are you _saying_ , Cynthia?”

Cynthia straightens. “Time is out of balance. That’s the first clue to tell us that something more… unnatural is happening. We believed that the Time Gears were just myths until one was stolen from under our very noses. Myths we used to dismiss as mere stories are coming to life, Looker. I think it’s entirely possible that the Pokemon Dialga is connected to the recent crimes, the whole time stopping incident, and Charon’s behavior.”

_Dialga might even be real._

Once again, the silence that follows almost bursts her eardrums.

Looker squeezes his eyes shut. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

“I’ll consider it,” Looker finally chokes out. He gropes for his last coffee, hissing when his fingers touch air. “It’s… a flimsy theory at best, but…. but it’s still worth considering.” He has to churn out his words.

Cynthia inhales deeply. Her head has never been clearer. It’s such an odd sensation compared to the chills from earlier.

_That’s how she knows that she has a lead._

Looker drags his hand through his hair. He seems to be mulling over something very unpleasant. And then he sighs. “Very well. I’ll see if I can put a timeline together based on your… assumptions.” He shoves his fists into his pockets and rises.

“I’ll have to make a copy for Headquarters.” Then he blinks, as if suddenly seeing the Elite Four and Champion for the first time. “We’ll talk to the Trainers on Victory Road. Then I’ll put an APB out for Charon. I’ll let you know if anything comes up. Until then… please stay safe.” The rationale returns to his eyes. “And let me know right away for any sign of trouble!”

Cynthia smiles. It’s her first smile in a while. “Thank you, Looker.”

The Detective mutters some assent. He almost trips over himself when leaving.

When his footsteps fade into the distance, Flint turns to Cynthia with wide eyes. “Cynthia? You sounded really confident back there.”

Cynthia shrugs and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Do you really think that’s true, though?” Aaron whispers. “That we’re dealing with… stories that are not actually stories?”

“That’s a possibility.” Cynthia purses her lips. Despite the serious mood, she can’t help but feel a little excited. “We can’t rule out anything at this point. This mystery might be bigger than what we originally thought.”

_Like those glowing red eyes. Like her dreams of the Planet’s Paralysis._

“Well.” Bertha musters a brave smile of her own. “Then we as the Elite Four will help you unravel this mystery. We shan’t let a small setback deter us.”

All eyes turn to Lucian, who sighs. “Should we still keep Victory Road open?”

“I don’t see why not,” Cynthia says. “We need to remain strong, show them that our spirits can’t and won’t be broken.”

A weight lifts off her shoulders. A warm feeling bubbles in her chest. Cynthia steadies her hands and smirks.

Flint grins at the sight of the Champion’s fighting spirit returning. “Sure, Cynthia. We’re here for you all the way!” Everyone echoes his sentiment.

Cynthia nods. While they wait for Looker to finish his reports, all they can do is carry out their lives like usual.

Until the unthinkable happens.

* * *

It’s been a few days since they last saw Looker. Victory Road remains open, and the Sinnoh League remains as vicious as ever. The Elite Four presents a fearsome force, but the Champion proves to be an entirely different league of her own.

Slowly but surely, Cynthia’s heart begins to feel again. The sun’s warmth finally touches the icy encasement she had created for herself.

In time, she manages to push everything from _that_ day out of her mind. Everything is back to normal, at least as normal as it can get. Her nightmares occur less often. Even her fleeting childhood memories seem like a distant dream.

_Then comes an odd question: why did her childhood memories suddenly resurface when after her memory loss? When she locked eyes with…_

One day, Cynthia is grooming her Garchomp when the floor shakes and the door bursts open. She instinctively snatches Garchomp with the absurd fear that a bullet would split the Pokemon’s head. 

Looker staggers into the room, his face haggard, his hair disheveled as if he’d just been in a bar fight. The Elite Four hurry in after him.

“Looker?” Cynthia says, eyes narrowed.

“C-come with me!” the Detective gasps. “All of you, come with me!”

“What’s going on, man?” Flint sputters. Looker greedily grabs oxygen as he raises his head.

“It actually happened! T-Time… _Time’s actually stopped_!”

* * *

Cynthia’s heart is racing as she jumps off Togekiss’s back. She missteps and almost bashes her head on the ground if the Pokemon hadn’t blocked her fall.

“Thanks, Togekiss.” She returns to the concerned Pokemon to its Pokeball. She palms it with a small smile—it reassures her to know that all her friends are safe and sound.

A line of Sinnoh Police and Interpol agents crowd around the entrance to Floaroma Town. She hasn’t seen so many armed personnel since…

_Since…_

As she approaches the authorities, a cold, unexplained chill runs down her back. Her breath has grown shallower, as if she’d trespassed on cursed grounds.

Lucian turns back with a deep frown on his face. “I didn’t think it was possible… it just defies all scientific explanation…”

Flint peers into her face. “Cynthia, you good? We can leave if you want.”

Cynthia deploys a quick smile. “I’m fine. I’m just… a little shocked, as you all are.”

Looker hurries up to them. His eyes are bloodshot. He chugs his coffee and says, “In all my years as a member of the force, never have I thought I would live to see the unthinkable with my own eyes.”

Bertha frowns. “You said that time has stopped?”

“Yes. How else can you explain _that_? See for yourself.”

Beyond the police tape lies the corpse of Floaroma Town. The sunlight is suspended as a solemn, grey light over the sea of flowers. It’s like peering through some very dusty, defunct lens into the town’s past. An unearthly, silent chill radiates from the ground. The coldness makes up for the lack of breeze, as if the town is sustaining itself on its last breath.

Floaroma Town was a lively, vibrant place that stood as the middle ground between nature and civilization. Now even the flowers that gave the town its name are pale and still.

The experience is much, much different when viewed on TV.

“Everything looks _dead_ ,” Aaron whispers. Cynthia’s nightmare drags itself into her waking mind.

Looker sighs and flips over his notes. The papers are already crumpled and stained with oily fingerprints. “The root of this problem likes in a place called the Mystifying Forest, not far off from Floaroma Town. Fortunately, we’ve manage to evacuate all people and Pokemon…” He grits his teeth. “But the… _paralysis_ seems to be spreading. We’ve had reports of time stopping around Route 206, 211, and even in some parts of Mt. Coronet.”

He doesn’t need to speak his implications, judging from the grim silence that follows.

“It’s Team Galactic,” Lucian hisses. “It has to be. They’re up to their old tricks again now that Charon’s running free.”

A bitter taste climbs up Cynthia’s throat. Looker shoots her a strange look as if he wants to say something, but then he quickly turns back to the Elite Four.

“I thought that too.” Looker brushes past the police and ducks under the crime tape. He beacons forward. “Until I saw _that_. Be careful not to touch anything. We still don’t know how frozen time can affect the human psyche.”

“A surreal experience” fails to capture Cynthia’s unease when maneuvering through a place whose time stands still. Her blood turns to ice, her hands are clammy, her heart won’t stop thrashing against her rib cage. It’s like experiencing hypothermia, vertigo, and heat stroke all at one. The air is thick and heavy, as if she’s wading through ancient molasses.

And the worst part is the deafening silence.

At one point her breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“This is the Mystifying Forest.” Looker’s voice rings from somewhere in the distance. “Move quickly so we can leave this bizarre place.”

“Damn,” Flint mutters, shattering the stillness with his whisper. “Where are all the Starly? The Budew? A forest shouldn’t be so… _empty. '_ Mystifying' is right...” They wordlessly navigate through the hushed crypt until arriving at a small opening in the heart of the woods.

In the center of the clearing is a circular stone edifice. The mere sight radiates an indescribable power that sends goosebumps down her neck.

_So that’s what a Time Gear looks like._ The mythical object emits a soft, pulsating light. _It’s… beautiful._

Cynthia notices her fingers twitching with anticipation. Her breaths are leaving her body at a faster rate than she’s taking them in. _Why is she nervous all of a sudden?_

_If it’s her first time seeing it up close, then why does it feel so familiar…?_

“This doesn’t make sense.” Lucian is glaring into the ground around the Time Gear. The gravel lays undisturbed; in fact, the Time Gear sleeps beneath a layer of roots and flowers.

“My thoughts exactly.” Looker shoots a furtive glance in Cynthia’s direction. She shivers from something unseen. “We can rule out the possibility that Cyrus is conducting his plots behind bars. We can also rule out Charon. This Time Gear appears to have been undisturbed for a long time. And yet… time has indeed stopped in this region.” Looker crushes his empty coffee cup. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Bertha is measuring the scene with hard eyes. “Is the Time Gear _broken_? And if it’s not Team Galactic, then who… or _what_ could be behind this?”

Looker preforms his habit again. His nails have become murky from running his scalp too many times. “It was our mistake to overlook the fact that something was wrong with the flow of time in little parts of the region, before all this happened. We thought it was some sort of prank at first.” He gives Cynthia a terse look.

“Cynthia, I don’t think your theory will remain a theory for much longer.”

Aaron presses a finger to his open lips. “So… what are you trying to say, Looker?”

A frustrated pause. “You know damn well what I’m implying,” he snaps, causing Aaron to fall back. Looker then gestures for them to follow him out of the forest. “I’ll have to refocus at the recent crime wave, see if they have any connections to Sinnoh’s creation myths.” In a lower voice he adds, “I can’t believe that there’s actually some hocus-pocus going on…”

Then he clears his throat. “In the meantime, I’m devoting all resources into locating the remaining Time Gears before things really _do_ get out of hand. This one and the one at Treeshroud Forest were easier to find. However, I’m running into dead ends with the others.”

“How many are there?” Flint asks.

“Five, according to him.” Looker fingers through his notes again. “This is pathetic. An agent of INTERPOL can’t even find three puny cogs that _actually carry the weight of the world_!”

Cynthia regards him carefully before speaking. “Have you looked everywhere?”

“Yes! I’ve been through all the possible locations based on his notes!”

“ _Everywhere_?” Cynthia presses with a sudden tremble in her voice.

Looker hesitates, as if someone had caught him red-handed. “Well… there were some… questionable places… _like the damn heart of a volcano and a secret lake!”_

A sudden image of fog over water flashes into her mind and dissipates just as fast. “Time Gears were meant to be hidden to prevent both human and Pokemon from tampering with the flow of time.” 

Everyone’s eyes are on her. That doesn’t intimidate Cynthia, though, as adrenaline surges through her brain when the idea begins to unravel itself. “Not all hidden places are what we think of as ‘hidden.’ The first and second Time Gear were found in the center of an unassuming forest. It’s also possible that the others are in places we don’t often think about—like a volcano, per say. The bottom of the ocean. The relics of a lost civilization.”

_Hmm, now where had she heard these words before?_

_“An underground lake,” a familiar voice whispers into her visceral organs, a voice as intangible as the fog itself._

“You can’t be serious,” Lucian snaps after a stunned silence. “An underground lake? That’s preposterous!”

_Did she imagine it, or did a shadow pass through his eyes?_

Looker scratches his chin. “Actually, Cynthia may be on to something.” They’ve returned to the entrance of Floaroma Town. “I’ll see what I can do about the volcano… we can do anything with Pokemon by our side, I suppose.”

Cynthia nods with a faint smile. “Thank you.”

Looker returns a terse nod. “That’s all. I just wanted to update you on the current situation. You’re all free to go.”

As Cynthia turns to follow the Elite Four towards the squad cares, a hand grips her shoulder.

“Cynthia,” Looker says under his breath. “Not you. I need to talk to you.”

Looker leads Cynthia to a less crowded spot. Once he establishes that they are out of earshot, he swivels back to her as if preparing to reveal a secret of a lifetime.

“Cynthia,” Looker begins slowly. “How did you know all that?”

The cold feeling touches her heart again. “He told me. A long time ago.” She drops her gaze to the ground.

Looker’s eyebrows plummets to his nose. But he doesn’t look angry. No, far from it. She can’t really place his expression, but he doesn’t look surprised at the least.

“And why do you think he’d disclose such valuable information to his enemy?” he presses in a whisper.

The bitter taste floods back to her tongue. She shakes her head, unaware that her tone had gained a defensive edge. “Why? What’s so important that you needed to pull me aside?”

Looker glances around the premise one more time. Then he leans in. “I went to see Cyrus after you told me your story.”

Her heart skips a beat. Cynthia’s head snaps up like a spring-lock suit.

Looker absorbs her reaction and continues, “He just listened when I told him about Charon. But when I told him that Charon attacked you, he… he got furious, Cynthia. His face suddenly broke, and I can tell he was _livid._ I swear it happened on my badge!”

“Why?” Cynthia moistens her lips and tries again. “Out of all the… why was he mad…?

“I’m not sure. I told him your story because, like it or not, he’s my best bet at solving this Tauros-crap of a case. I mean, the man’s mad enough to _locate_ and _steal_ a Time Gear! If anyone should know something about this mess, it _has_ to be him.

“Anyhow, when I finished, he sat there and glared at me for a good hour. Nothing, just glared at me as if I was the scum on this earth.” Looker takes a moment to recollect himself. “And when he finally spoke, you know what he asked me, Cynthia?”

Cynthia merely shakes her head.

“He asked me, and I quote, ‘Did Charon hurt her?’”

_What?_ Cynthia stares at Looker. _What?!_

“That was my same reaction,” Looker mutters, his eyes refocusing to the present. “Out of all the questions, I’d never thought… and there was no malice in his voice, either. Nothing to indicate that he wanted that to happen. Quite the opposite, in fact…”

“W-what did you tell him?” The words rush out before she can think.

Looker fixes her with a hard look before continuing, “I told him that you were fine, despite being a little rattled. Then he had this odd look on his face. He closed his eyes… and he told me _everything._ About Charon’s sudden disappearance from Team Galactic. Cyrus claimed he had nothing to do with the incident on Victory Road, and that he himself had been tracking Charon’s whereabouts. Cyrus told me about the myths concerning Dialga and its possible link to the Time Gears. I just… never expected him to actually answer my questions for once!”

The ground is swaying under her feet. Cynthia bites her tongue, almost drawing blood, and snaps back to reality. “Why are you telling me this, Looker?” she mutters, not looking at his face.

Looker frowns. He mulls her words over in his mind. “To be honest, I’m not sure myself. I didn’t know what to make of that situation… but I’d thought you would want to know.”

Cynthia lets his words sink into her brain. _He’s not wrong at all._ She raises her head. “Thank you, Looker.”

Looker’s brow dips again. His hand goes back to his head. “Of course, Cynthia. I’d also thought you would like to keep this to yourself.”

Despite her erratic heartbeat, Cynthia gives a small, genuine smile. “Thank you, Detective. I owe you one.”

“Heh.” He puffs his chest, his police badge glistening in the sun. “I can’t solve this mystery without you, Cynthia. Of course I’m going to let you know everything. We have a world to save, after all.”

They shake hands. “I’ll still question him some more. Until then, be alert and stay safe.” Cynthia waves until he vanishes to the crowd of police. With trembling hands, she summons Togekiss and hurries back to base, leaving with more questions than when she came.

* * *

Sleep evades her tonight. But it’ll be different today because she’ll put her ambitions into action. Cynthia kicks off her covers, dresses herself, and leaps out the window to a surprised Togekiss.

“Shh, Togekiss. People are sleeping. We’re just going to take a nice little stroll…” Togekiss doesn’t like the abnormally bright glint in its owner’s eyes, but it nevertheless takes to the starry skies. Its owner keeps her gaze straight ahead.

“There, Togekiss.” The Pokemon squeaks in disbelief. Its owner has _that_ look on her face. A stubborn, hard-headed determination that no one can remove. With a sigh, the Pokemon descends onto the compound.

Cynthia recalls Togekiss and strides into the metal walls. The search light gleans over the glistening wires and stops upon the Champion’s golden curls.

The guards do a double-take. “C-Champion Cynthia? W-what are you doing here? Visiting hours are over…”

“It’s an emergency.” Nothing can deter her when she sets her mind onto something. She’ll finally get her damn answers. “And please keep it a secret between us.”


	9. A Frozen Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Cynthia sucks at good cop, bad cop. She wonders if she's making another big mistake.  
> 

“You’re lucky, Champion Cynthia,” the guard says, his voice slurred by drowsiness. “This one was still wide awake. Come to think of it, we never _did_ see him close his eyes. _Ever._ Heh. Got a real nutjob in this joint.”

Cynthia swallows the dry lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she mumbles to the floor. _You did the right thing,_ she reminds herself. _Just… do your business, then get out. Forget this ever happened in the first place._

Chains rattle in the spot right above her. A stale, sterile breeze. The clanking of keys. The chair scraping against the metal floor. Then silence.

Crushing gravity presses against her head that threatens to crack her neck. Cynthia finds it impossible to lift her gaze, and even if she wants to, every cell in her body is holding her back. Her nails dig further into her skin, almost drawing blood.

The dull humming of an overhead fluorescent light almost drives her crazy. She screams into her head and claws at her own mind. Anything to rid this terrifying, _horrifying_ silence.

Finally, after _Arceus_ knows how long it’s been, Cynthia pads her ego, reassures herself that there are guards in the room, and replays every potential conversation in her brain. She pats the Poke balls in her pocket and looks up.

A corpse stares right back at her.

Cynthia gasps and immediately drops her head, suddenly grateful for her thick, long bangs. That sour tastes surges to her throat, accompanied with something that can only be described as bitter shame.

_What the hell are you doing, Cynthia?! You didn’t come here to hide! You came for peace of mind! D-don’t let him intimidate you! That’s what he wants!! He can’t hurt you!!_

_SUCK IT UP SO YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!_

Cynthia fights against the mounting pressure in the air and raises her neck. Cyrus’s eyes only grow colder with each unspoken second.

Awful doesn’t even _begin_ to describe him. He looks… _not alive,_ for lack of a better word. All Cynthia sees are two empty eye sockets amidst sunken cheekbones that now look sharp enough to cut _diamond_.

The words scamper back down to the safety of her stomach. _WOMAN, YOU ARE THE DAMN CHAMPION OF SINNOH! DON’T LET THIS CRIMINAL DETER YOU!!_

And when she finally drags her voice from her throat, her next words aren’t from Champion Cynthia’s mouth, but from a sad little girl’s of a time long forgotten. 

“Your… head…” she squeaks. His complete lack of emotional response instantly kills her words.

That doesn’t silence her brain, though: _Did… did it hurt? Of course it did, idiot! He fucking split his head!! Didn’t you hear the crack?! And the blood?!? He also took a BARRAGE of Thunder Waves! His body shook like a possessed doll, well after he collapsed!!_

_“It took some stitches,” Looker had said._

The Detective was right. This is unnerving as hell. Cyrus isn’t displaying any physical pain… at least, not from what she’s seeing. Nothing from that day save for a thick roll of bandage around his head.

_He’s f-fine…_

The light had died in his eyes. All she sees is emptiness and ice, a howling blizzard in a world of darkness. If she dares to search deeper, she’ll find the remnants of his emotions when Crobat twitched at his feet as vengeful flurries.

With a stiff, jerky breath that almost makes her pass out, Cynthia shoves those unnecessary sympathies into the abyss, boards them up and tosses the key into the murky depths.

Cynthia hardens her voice. “Time’s stopped in Floaroma Town.” His face is still utterly blank, utterly devoid of _anything_ that can betray his frozen heart. Cynthia’s façade cracks. _Wait. Can he even speak? Or did something bad happe—_

“Go home.” Compared to the brewing blizzard in his eyes, his voice carries… nothing. No substance. Just empty air. All the familiarity built from the past is long gone. For a split second, Cynthia questions whether this is an actual flesh-and-blood human before her… or if she’s just listening to a broken machine.

Cynthia curls her fists to stop the shaking in her knees. “I have questions for you.”

And she almost buckles under his glare if she hasn’t bitten her tongue.

“Detective Looker has already questioned me.” _When was the last time she heard him speak?_ “I have nothing more to say.”

Cynthia returns his glare. “This isn’t about Looker. I came here on my own.”

Cyrus regards her coldly before a sneer twists on his pale lips. An empty, terrifying sneer.

One more second, and her heart’s ready to explode.

“T-the Time Gear,” she begins, directing her eyes at the wall behind him, “had not been disturbed for a long time. And yet, time stopped completely in Mystifying Forest.” She pauses and prays for a reply.

His sneer only darkens. She almost sees teeth.

“T-the world is in danger!” Cynthia slams her fists into the table. No reaction from him. Her rationale is becoming more erratic. “You’re obligated to cooperate in our investigation, _criminal_ , because you’re the root cause of this whole mess!”

Her heaving breaths reverberate throughout the small room. He, on the other hand, hasn’t breathed since she came in. Gooseflesh crawls up her arms.

“So I did it.” Again, the voice is flat and distant. “I admit to everything. You can go home now.”

Anger surges to replace fear. “Listen, you _heartless robot_!” She slams her fists again. He never bats an eye. “You told Looker what _he_ wanted to hear. I don’t care if you pretended to get angry to throw him off! I’m here for answers, and I expect answers, _freak_!”

The ice cracks within his eyes. A harsh wind escapes its confines and stings her cheeks. Something happened. Something she said affected him, but at that moment, she is too confused and exasperated to care.

“Congratulations.” His smirk is devoid of all mirth. “You saw through my manipulation. We have nothing more to discuss.”

It takes every last morsel of reason not to throw her hands around his neck and scream into his ears. Cynthia dreads to do this, but he’d pushed her to edge. Time to deploy the loathsome big guns. “Listen, you. If you insist on being difficult, then I have no problem with letting you rot in here. I’ll forget all about you. No one’s going to miss you, much less remember that you even _existed_.”

Cyrus shows no physical reaction. Cynthia blanches and turns away. She knows that she’s a terrible person, but to actually _say_ those words… Throwing up is the least of her worries. She prays that he doesn’t notice her glaring weakness.

But the moment when she turned away, in that heartbeat of time, his perfectly devoid mask cracked. The blizzard screeched to a halt as a darker, more somber shadow possessed his eyes.

Cynthia has unknowingly uncovered a fear that should’ve stayed **buried** and **dead**.

When Cynthia turns back, however, Cyrus’s shields show no signs of ever having wavered. “Do as you wish,” he hisses.

The guards have been watching with wide eyes and fingers on their weapons. When they announce that time is up, Cynthia wordlessly backs down as they hoist Cyrus to his feet. Cyrus never looks while they escort him away.

But Cynthia does. She happens to catch the thick, black line meandering through the back of his head amidst his light hair. Lines where needles have penetrated skin to patch wounds together.

* * *

Cynthia phones Looker the next day. He picks up right away.

“Cynthia?” Looker’s voice warbles from the other line. “Everything all right? You sound a little muffled.”

“Yes.” Fortunately, Looker doesn’t see the agitation on her face. She’s still repulsed at the words that spat from her mouth, but to the others, nothing ever happened that night. “I was wondering if Cyrus told you anything new. About the Time gears.”

A pause. Her breath hitches. Then Looker groans, and everything is good and dandy again. “Ah. About that. He’s suddenly back to his usual hollow self. He just stared at me. The best I got out of him was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ It’s as if I never told him that Charon attacked you.”

Cynthia’s ear is glued to the telephone. “I guess I’m back to square one, then,” Looker continues. “But I’m not giving up. I’m going to crack him open like a _Blissey’s egg._ ”

Despite her current state of mind, Cynthia snorts. “Okay, Looker. I just wanted to know if anything’s new. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cynthia.” He hangs up. Looker’s right. If he’s not giving up, then she won’t let it deter her either.

It’s a personal mission for her. Deep in her heart, she knows that she didn’t sneak in there to ask him about the fate of the world. No… it’s a selfish act on her part. A selfish question that only _he_ can answer.

The only problem is just _how_ she’ll pry the words from his cold, dead heart.

* * *

In the end, Cynthia chickened out. It was all fine until Togekiss soared over the compound and his lifeless eyes flashed into her mind. Her words oozed into her ears like the harshest poison. Her skin would burst into gooseflesh, her heart threatened to explode again and spray the walls with blood, and whatever’s in her stomach would surge into her throat.

_The taste of guilt. She’s the one responsible for his stitches—_

 _No, why did she have to feel sorry for him?! It was inevitable. She did nothing wrong! That was part of her bringing him and his evil ambitions to justice!!_ It never used to be this way. Before she lost her memory, he was just another crook that she had to apprehend.

_Damn_ , when did she start hesitating? When did she begin to question if she had been doing the right thing?

_Oh. Maybe… maybe it’s due to time being out of whack. It’s messing her mind. Causing her needless doubt. Yes… it has to be…_

“Cynthia?”

Cynthia’s head snaps up to the mess that is Flint’s hair. His smile dips slightly as his eyes crinkle.

“Yes.” Cynthia immediately says. Flint looks relived and turns back to the talking Bertha. _Oh. That’s right._ She’s in a meeting while the Elite Four recap current events. _What were they saying the first place?_

“And right now, we have no idea where the next Time Gear can be,” Bertha is saying. “Detective Looker was unsuccessful in his volcano exploration, although he _did_ discover a Sealed Chamber and brought back the rare Fiery Drums.”

“I guess the old man got his _heat_ back,” Aaron mutters to Flint, who snickers. Lucian rolls his eyes.

Bertha clears her throat. “Nevertheless, he has asked the Elite Four to help in the meantime. We’ve suspended most Pokemon challenges to render our full cooperation to this case.

“Currently Looker is investigating this area.” She points to the slide. It shows a detailed map of Sinnoh with areas penned with perfect circles. Some jargon here and there in the margins.

_Of course. Those were his notes, after all._ A cold shiver runs down her spine, accompanied with a burning sensation in her throat. _What if he actually achieved his ambitions…?_

Bertha’s voice drifts into earshot. “The Northern Desert, this area here, drew suspicion. However, there’s nothing there but quicksand. I can attest to that. Our other leads turned out to be dead-ends as well.”

“Perhaps he’s trying to throw us on a wild Farfetch’d chase,” Lucian huffs.

Aaron leans back into his chair with his hands folded behind his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s just as clueless as us.”

Cynthia absorbs that thought with furrowed brow.

“On a lighter note,” Bertha continues, “we haven’t received recent reports on time stopping anywhere else. That’s reassuring news.

“Now I also want to go recap our profile on Dialga. Thanks to Cynthia’s sources at Celestic town and Eterna City, and Lucian’s research at Canalave Library, this is what we have.”

The Pokemon in the slides radiates power even if it’s just a copy of the source. In every depiction, it holds its head tall, the diamond in his crest glistening with hand-drawn radiance. She feels as if she’s witnessing history just by feasting eyes on a slide of that Pokemon.

“This is Dialga,” Lucian says. “The Temporal Pokemon. The mythical Pokemon that guards time. Its legends span back as far as the dawn of Sinnoh’s creation.”

_“If you peruse through Sinnoh mythology, you’re bound to come across Dialga, the Guardian of Time,” Cyrus had said once upon a time, long ago when he used to stand by the doorway and recount stories. His voice remained flat, but his eyes shone with childish delight._

_“When the universe was created, Dialga was entrusted with keeping the flow of time from going out of balance. It was also said that the Time Gears came to be through Dialga’s birth.”_

_Cynthia had listened to his stories with open ears. The one thing she really looked forward to, however, was how his face lighted like the sun whenever he spoke about the world before science. “But it’s all just a story, right?” she said. “There’s no way a single Pokemon can be in charge with something so… incredible as the concept of time.”_

_Cyrus might’ve smiled. “All stories have a seed of truth, Cynthia. You just have to keep searching for it.”_

Aaron’s whistling brings her back. “Shouldn’t be this hard to spot a Pokemon like _that._ ”

“If it exists,” Lucian mutters. “I still think this is a load of nonsense.”

Flint raises a brow. “But don’t you remember what Cynthia said? Charon’s under control of this ‘Dialga’ god-thing. The recent crime waves all look to be connected to Dialga, too. And there’s also this _minion_ business that Dialga hinted at…”

Lucian crosses his arms. “Do you all honestly believe Charon’s words? He could be lying, for all we know.” _Yes, that doubt did cross her mind. But Dialga’s name had definitely struck something in her memory._

_Dialga._ Now where had she seen it, outside of the current events and Cyrus’s stories? There’s a different connection to the Pokemon… one much more unsettling than mere stories.

Once again she’s reminded of the foggy place where water pooled at her feet and a pale, unearthly glow hummed in the distance. A light in a world frozen in darkness.

Then the association hits her. No wonder she felt as if she’d seen the Pokemon before. Yes, those glowing red eyes matched the same ones staring at her from Bertha’s slides.

_What if her nightmares weren’t just dreams...?_

“Unfortunately, that’s the biggest lead we have,” Bertha is frowning. She glances at Cynthia, who’s too engrossed in her own thoughts to notice the cold war between the elder woman and Lucian. “I’m taking everything seriously because Cynthia’s life might be at stake here.”

Flint casually intervenes before the tension snaps. “Why don’t we just go to Cyrus and make him find the Time Gears for us?”

Cynthia’s mind immediately snaps back to earth. Flint, oblivious of her sudden tenseness, continues, “If he won’t answer to Looker, he’ll have to answer to all four, er, five of us, right? He’s badly outmatched, so we can shake him up with our Pokemon! And he’ll never see it coming!”

_He’ll never see it coming…?_

“Hold on, Flint,” Cynthia snaps. “I don’t think it’s that easy to crack someone like Cyrus. If we just march on in, he might stop giving answers altogether. According to Looker,” she adds quickly.

_Why the hell they staring at her like she’d been caught as an accomplice to crime?!_

So thank the heavens when Bertha speaks, “Cynthia has a point. Since we’re new faces, he’ll become even less likely to talk. None of us know how to properly handle interrogation. Why, one wrong move, and our whole mission might be in jeopardy!”

_Damn it._

Aaron hums, “I’m kinda glad we don’t have to be in the same room as him. He gives me the creeps. I feel like I’m going to freeze to death if he just _looks_ at me.”

Lucian fixes his glasses. “I still can’t believe that we have to rely on _him._ If it were me—” His sentence is cut short by Bertha’s dangerous glare.

Flint waves a dismissive hand and dissolves the sour mood. “Look, everyone. Leave it to Looker. As long as he’s dealing with that Galactic criminal, the fool’s _bound_ to crack eventually.

“Let’s just sit out of it before we _really_ mess things up. Me especially,” he adds with a light laugh.

Cynthia shields her face with her bangs and prays that no one sees the blush creeping to her face. Maybe she _did_ make a mistake. Maybe he _was_ right: paying heed to her heart will only lead to disaster down the road.


	10. A Desperate Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia ditches the good cop, bad cop routine and makes progress, both for the present and the past.

Staying away is much harder than she thought.

There are days when she can’t sit still. Meetings about Time Gears and time stopping are important, but she just can’t. Sit. STILL. It’s impossible to pay attention to the subjects at hand. More so impossible to maintain innocence when Looker comes back with dead-ends and a tired frown.

Had she made a mistake by coming to see him? No, she didn’t reveal any damning information: It was just between the two of them. Nothing to jeopardize the current mission.

Still, she can’t believe she surrendered to her heart like that. It was always a fault of hers to jump headfirst without looking.

_If she wasn’t that way… would her story have been different?_

Those sleepless nights revisit her. As time slowly slips around the region, the public becomes increasingly panicked about this strange phenomenon. The police reassure the people that they are doing everything in their power to prevent things from going out of hand.

Some nights Cynthia relives her confrontation with Charon. Some nights she wades through that foggy lake to the glowing red eyes. On seldom nights she’s back at Valor Lakefront watching bubbles flutter across the setting sun.

Her childhood memories refuse to return. She tries to tap into her brain, channel all those years of experience only to come across a frustrating blank. She’s certain that her memory loss is connected to time going out of whack, yet why are her _childhood_ memories also affected? It bothers her more than it should.

What’s the point of recalling something that wasn’t there in the first place? She wasn’t even _aware_ that the boy existed until…

“I still don’t understand,” she whispers out loud one sleepless night. “Why did you help me, Cyrus? It just doesn’t make sense…” _What was his plan?_ It would’ve been easier to send her along without devoting that much energy into spending time with her. Why did he take her to the beach, where everyone else could see her? That was the big, glaring flaw in his vision. Why accompany her for breakfast every day? Why show her around Headquarters, if she’ll just use that against him?

_“Why would he disclose such valuable information to you, his enemy?”_ Looker had said, his words haunting Cynthia to this day.

The questions bubble and brew with each passing second, so much that her chest begins to physically _throb_ with discomfort.

_What keeps drawing her back to this enigmatic man? Was this what he wanted? To implant the seed of doubt within her heart?_ Was _that_ his plan all along?

Cynthia has questions: burning, furious questions that keep her up at night. Selfish, desperate needs of closure and peace of mind. And only he holds the answers.

And she makes up her mind one fateful day. For the first time in her life, she shoves aside Champion Cynthia’s obligations and turns to her inner self: plain Cynthia, the woman from Celestic Town with an ear for myths and legends. The woman who always heeded her heart above all else, regardless of the consequences that may follow.

She’ll be careful. This is separate business. Her business and the fate of the world’s are on two different spheres. The meat and cheeses aren’t touching and will never, ever touch.

* * *

Cynthia keeps coming back to see him. Her brain warns her that this is wrong, that the Hero of Sinnoh shouldn’t be seen with the villain she put away. Her heart tells a different story: a sorrowful tale of bygone days, of a lingering memory that refuses to die.

_One thing’s for sure: Cyrus was not telling her everything she wanted to know._

The guards are hesitant but nevertheless grants the Champion’s strange request at secrecy.

The first few visits are met with silence. In fact, all she remembers is the mind-numbing silence and the blizzard in the room. She’d learned to focus on her hands as she talked to avoid betraying her tell-tale heart. Cynthia asks him the basic ice-breakers, such as the locations for the Time Gears, Mystifying Forest’s incident, etc. Anything to build confidence for her selfish questions down the road.

_This is good,_ she tells herself. _He’s getting used to your face._ She’s also used to playing his games… or so she believes.

Cynthia comes prepared for today’s visit. _Just be yourself. The last time we played good cop, bad cop, he killed you._ The beginning of each round of visits is a tense glaring contest until one of them drops their gaze. It’s never Cyrus.

And then the impossible happens. Cynthia is seriously debating on switching back to the good cop, bad cop routine until that hollow monotone stops her cold.

“Why do you keep coming?” Cynthia’s head snaps up. Cyrus isn’t looking at her. He’s addressing her reflection on the linoleum table.

Somehow, his words strike a chord within her memory. “I told you, I have qu—”

“I don’t think you understand the consequences, Champion.” Cyrus silences her with another glare. His expression is grim, his tone holds the authority of a leader’s: cold, commanding, and final. “What would the people who respect you say if they discover that their Hero is abandoning her duties? What will they say if you’re sneaking out to see the monster you put away?” He raises a brow. “In _prison_ , no less.”

That’s the longest he’d ever spoken to her. Here. In here. His words leave a bitter taste on her tongue. What’s worse is how dead serious he looked when he delivered them.

Her cheeks flush as if she’d been scolded. When the initial shock wears off, she gasps. “How’d you know that I was sneaking out?”

He tilts his head with a look that says, “ _Because you’re Cynthia_.”

The old aching feeling grips her heart. Once again, she’s faltering because of him. This man… this walking contradiction both fascinates and terrifies her.

“I can handle my own problems,” she states flatly. “But I’m not leaving until you give me answers.”

“Cyrus,” she says his name loud and clear with all its meaning and implications. It leaves a strange, warm tingle on her tongue. His eye twitches, but other than that, his face is completely impassive.

After evaluating the silence and deeming it safe to continue, Cynthia begins. “Were you aware that Charon was hiding in Victory Road?”

“No.” Quick and terse. His mask never falters. Cynthia bites her lips to keep her own mask from cracking.

“Were you working together?”

A dark, bitter smirk. He looks almost… _disgusted._ “Do my words even matter anymore?” The same coldness from the first visit is returning. If she doesn’t act fast, he’ll close off completely.

Cynthia inhales sharply. “Yes. That’s why I’m here. I want to hear what you have to say.”

His eyes flash like tempests. _“How damn ironic, Champion,”_ his frown seems to relay.

But out loud, he says, “Why? You shouldn’t trust what this _manipulative freak_ has to say in the first place, _Hero.”_ It’s _how_ he emphasizes those words with such a straight face that that makes Cynthia’s cheeks sting with shame. To him, he’s stating the facts; to her, he’s shoving all her insecurities and doubts back into her face.

Cynthia lost. She looked away. Her skull is pulsating with heat. Her throat is burning, her eyes are becoming raw and itchy. Cynthia gulps a fistful of stale air to wash the rancid taste from her mouth.

“Just answer the questions, Cyrus,” she mutters, but it sounds more like a plea.

Cyrus’s lips are clamped in a tight line.

Cynthia tries again. “We tried all the locations on your map. They all came up dead-end… Time Gear-wise. Looker found some Fiery Drums,” she adds weakly.

Cyrus hasn’t blinked. Cynthia pinches her hip and straightens at the onslaught of pain. Her head clears somewhat.

“I know you know something about these locations. You told me that Time Gears could be found in the most unexpected of places. Time stopped in Mystifying Forest. Who knows what can happen if we don’t find the other Time Gears in time?”

Cyrus merely tilts his head. Cynthia clicks her teeth. “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no?’ Dammit, Cyrus! Say something! _Anything! At least nod!”_

If there’s a way to crack him without deploying the same tasteless tactic as last time…

Fine. If he won’t respond to words, that only leaves force. _So much for being yourself._ “I know you can talk, _Cyrus!”_ She slams her hands on the table. “We’re wasting time! I know you can care less about the world, but I have people and things I want to protect! I still have memories worth cherishing, and I’m not going to let you take it all away from me _again_!”

Something darkens in those empty eyes. Cynthia growls into her palms. What more can she say?! Nothing fazes this… this _machine_! How childish of her to assume that he’ll answer the cries of her desperate heart.

“I have a condition.” Cynthia whips her head around at the sound of his monotone.

“What?” she hisses.

Cyrus doesn’t repeat himself. He has no need.

Cynthia glowers at him. “You’re in no position to compromise, _criminal.”_ Despite her rising voice, he still remains frustratingly patient.

And she loses again. “Just spit it out already!” _She never agreed to anything yet_. But it if he’ll talk, then by _Arceus,_ she has nothing to lose. For the sake of the world and her own peace of mind.

“I have two questions.”

Cynthia clenches her fists and teeth. “Fine. But I’ll decide whether I’m answering or not.”

Cyrus nods. He measures her evenly with shielded eyes. After a brief silence, he speaks, “You said that Charon might have an accomplice?”

_Huh..?_ Her train of thought swerves off its track and plummets into the valley below. Cynthia blinks. He’s still waiting. _So she hasn’t misheard!_

“Yes…?” _Why are you asking if it’s you?_ She leaves this unsaid. “Dialga mentioned something about Charon and this other minion being the most useful out of its bunch. It said that I was the target because I have something that could stop him… it did mention a second person, but that part didn’t make sense.” Cynthia fidgets with her fingers. “I really don’t know what Charon or Dialga was talking about.”

His stare is _really_ penetrating. Cyrus absorbs her words with a pensive frown. Cynthia’s earlier anger dissipates to a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

“Why?” she squeaks. His eyes flicker to her face.

“My second question: What did Charon do to you?”

Cynthia steadies a hand over her chest. “He just surprised me. Whatever he was planning, it failed.”

Cyrus hesitates. That’s the first real emotion she’d seen post-Operation. _Where exactly is he going with this?_ “Were you injured?”

“No… Just some scratches. The others came, and he ran away. I found my Poke balls, though. It’s all good.” Cynthia realizes that her eyes are on the floor. She picks them back up and peeks from under her long bangs. “Didn’t… didn’t Looker tell you all that?”

“Yes, he did.” Cyrus is glancing elsewhere now. At her, but not really seeing her. There’s a new light in his eyes that she can’t place.

Whatever it is, a great weight seems to have lifted from the heavy mood from earlier.

Then, after painfully mulling something over in his mind, Cyrus returns his attention to the present.

“Your first question: no, I was not and _am_ not conspiring with someone like Charon. He deserted Team Galactic well before I stole the first Time Gear. My Commanders and I have been trying to pinpoint his exact location for a while now. I do not know why he would have your Pokemon. Never would I imagine that he would hide in Victory Road, and never in my life would I collaborate on something so… _despicable._

“Your second question: no, the Time Gear in Mystifying Forest is not broken. Time stopped despite the Time Gear being present, yes? I have been looking into an intriguing theory concerning those relics: it might be that the Time Gears are only secondary mechanisms in controlling the flow of time. Something else, something much grander is responsible for this phenomena… and Dialga certainly seems to fit the picture.” His tone grows heavy. “We might be looking at the possibility of a day when the world’s time will stand still, regardless of the Time Gears’ intervention.” He pauses. “In other words, no, the Time Gears are not broken, but something else is.”

Cynthia had been gaping at him ever since he began with her first question. The revelations came too fast, too jarring for her brain to process with the current shock of his change of heart. Cynthia finally blinks. Her tongue tingles from having been exposed to the stale air for far too long.

_So this is the surreal experience that Looker described._ She slaps herself and returns to earth.

And then Cyrus’s stoic mask falters, at least a little bit. “Why did you hit yourself?” he says and means every word of it.

“N-nothing.” Cynthia scrambles to wake up her brain. Judging from his quizzical look, she failed in that department.

“What’s you say?” she gasps. “The Time Gear’s _not_ broken? A-and that time will continue to unravel until everything grinds to a halt, no matter what we do?”

“That is my theory,” he grunts after a pause. “I’m only giving you my side of the story. You’re always welcome to disregard me.”

For some reason, Cynthia can’t bring herself to match his eyes. “I’ll hear everything first before deciding,” she mutters. Then she clears her throat. “Do you know, then… _why_ time’s out of whack in the first place?”

A somber shadow passes through his face. “I asked myself the very question since this all began, Champion.” His gaze slips into a faraway place, past the walls in this room, past the oceans and the skies.

The silence this time around is actually… tolerable.

Cyrus straightens. “And since I asked you a third question, I’ll return my dues. _Yes,_ I truly believe that there _are_ locations on my map that hide a Time Gear. I can support my claims through field work and research.

“I see the Detective brought back treasure. That was indeed a praiseworthy feat, however, that also means that you can eliminate those places from suspicion.

_“What you want to look for is a puzzle.”_

Cynthia leans forward, much to his surprise. “A puzzle?” Her eyes are shining.

Cyrus shifts in his chair. “Yes. A dead-end where it shouldn’t be otherwise. A puddle of water in a dry climate. A peculiar formation of rocks you can pick up and rearrange.” He trails off into a thought. “Mind you, puzzles won’t guarantee a Time Gear, but your chances will rise exponentially.”

Cynthia’s heart has begun to race again. “Do you know where we can start?” She’s also trembling, but not from fear.

Cyrus holds her gaze before turning away. “Since Sinnoh mythology seems to be connected with the current mystery, I would start by the lakes,” he mutters. “Lakes hold deep symbolism in those legends.”

“A lake…” That memory of a lake bound by fog creeps into her mind. “A secret lake…?”

Cyrus’s brows furrow. “That is a strong possibility.”

“Time is up,” the guard says before Cynthia can reply. Cyrus wordlessly rises from his seat and lets the guards escort him away.

“Thank you, Cyrus,” Cynthia whispers, soft enough for only the two of them to hear. She doesn’t expect him to respond until he catches her wide eyes with his own.

* * *

That night, instead of turning around in all these, new damning revelations, Cynthia dreams. A dream about the past. A recollection of her time at Sunyshore. Of the mysterious boy on the beach.

How does her brain choose _when_ to disclose these precious memories? Why now? Why release the sealed memories now when her heart is still conflicted?

* * *

_Cynthia came back to Sunyshore to see him again. That nice boy with his Zubat. She wanted to know more about him. He was weird, fascinating, and the nicest boy she’d ever met._

_What she didn’t expect was for someone to shove her from behind. She fell over and scraped her chin against the pavement. She held a trembling hand to her skin and drew blood._

_“It’s the freak’s girlfriend again.” The rich girl from before leered down on Cynthia. Her lackeys formed a circle with no way out._

_“Go away, you bullies!” Cynthia growled and reached for her Poke balls. It wasn’t there._

Did she drop it?!

_The rich girl snickered and held up Gible’s Poke ball. “It’s mine, now. I’m going to become the world’s finest Pokemon Trainer. And then I’ll become the Champion of Sinnoh!”_

_“Give Gible back!” Cynthia screamed. The boys pushed her back down. She hit the ground hard, and her hands began to hurt._

_“Why don’t you crawl back to your cave with him? Save everyone the trouble of embarrassing yourself!”_

_Cynthia noticed that the boys’ knuckles were red. Their shorts were splayed with sand and damp around the hems. “What did you do to him?” she barked. Today the weather wasn’t good enough for the sun to come out, so the beach was empty. No adults to call for help._

_The girl exchanged a glance between her group. “We only talked to him. See if he was gonna talk to us. I’m beginning to think that he’s really mute.”_

_“Leave us alone!” Cynthia scampered to run, but the rich girl planted a shiny shoe on her stomach._

_“I don’t think so, freak. You had the nerve to come back here after what you’ve done. You’ve ruined my favorite dress and made me look bad in front of my friends.” Then an evil glint flashed through her eyes. Cynthia had a really, really bad feeling when the rich girl held the Poke ball directly above Cynthia’s face._

_“All right. Fine.” She waved Gible’s Poke ball as one would handle a knife. “I’ll give this back to you… and I’ll throw in a free makeover!” She retracted her arm. Cynthia gasped and attempted to shield her face when the boys pinned her arms down. She screamed._

_Then the rich girl suddenly flew back and hit her ass on the sand. The boys looked at each other in shock when an ear-splitting screech swept them off their feet._

_“Zubat, Supersonic! Murkrow, Mean Look, now!”_

_A blade of sound split through the sand and slammed into the bullies. As the boys scurried to protect their ringleader, their spines snapped straight from an unseen fear. Cynthia could feel the cold sweat emanating through their skins._

_Then the boy from the beach stepped in front of her, his arms spread, his hair rustling in the aftermath of the attack._

_“-----.” His name was a comfort on her parched tongue. His name rivaled even the finest gateau._

_“Stay away from Cynthia!” His normally soft voice was tight and cold. She never thought someone as gentle as him could adopt such a… hardened edge. He scared even her._

_The rich girl clumsily rose to her feet. She stumbled from the Supersonic, but the rage in her eyes were clear as day. “So you can talk now, eh, freak?! I thought we took care of you already! Crawl back to your cave and junk where you belong!”_

_Cynthia noticed the cuts on his arms and legs. New bruises on top of old ones. Thin trails of blood from small, sharp objects._

_“No!” He remained steadfast. “You go back where_ you _belong! Leave her alone!”_

_“Shut up, **freak**! Stop trying to act brave! She wouldn’t be in this mess if **you** hadn’t come along and infected her! _

_His hands were trembling. His feet were steady, but his shoulders were quivering. Cynthia said his name again, this time a mere whisper._

_Then Zubat bashed his chin. His trembling stopped, if only momentarily._

_“I’ll make you regret ever hurting her! Don’t_ ever _come near her again!” Murkrow spun towards the group with a shrill shriek. Zubat veered up into the ambiguous sun and spread its glistening fangs._

_The bullies screamed, spun around, and fled down the empty beach._

_For a while, no one said anything. The boy stiffly walked over to the spot where the bullies had been not long ago and returned with her Poke ball._

_“Gible!” Cynthia released the land shark and hugged it tight. The shark returned its own sobbing grip. “I-I was so worried! I-If she’d done something to you, I’ll never… never…”_

_The boy offered her a napkin. She graciously accepted and scrubbed her face clean of tears, until she hit her chin and hissed in pain._

_“Please hold still. I brought bandages today.” The boy was much more adept at this than she was. He had doctor’s hands—his fingers hovering across her face with the agility of a dancer’s. He disinfected and treated her cuts within seconds, all while carefully avoiding her eyes._

_Cynthia gingerly touched her chin. It didn’t hurt so much anymore. She marveled at the space-themed bandages on her palms. She noticed him staring and looked up._

_“Does it still hurt?” he muttered, his eyes darting down to the sand._

_“Not anymore,” she whispered. “You also need to treat yourself too.”_

_He merely glanced at his arms. “I can do that later.” His hands were trembling again. He shielded his face with his sleeves._

_“-----.” Cynthia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his chest. She didn’t expect him to flinch so violently as if he’d been struck by lightning. He wretched himself away from her grip, his eyes now bright with fear._

_“-----?” she whispered his name again. His Pokemon flew before him like a shield. Gible stuck its nose up curiously, as if smelling the tension in the air._

_“Thank you for your time, Cynthia,” he said flatly._

_“What? What do you mean?” Cynthia attempted to step closer, but his Pokemon began snarling._

_“I don’t think we should play together anymore.” His voice was tight. Her own chest suddenly felt tight as well._

_“-----? What’s going on? W-why are you saying this?”_

_And he glared at her. She stopped cold. There were angry tears in the corners of his eyes._

_“Please leave me alone, Cynthia. I don’t want to see you anymore.”_

_Cynthia grabbed Gible. The land shark gave a surprised yelp. Her heart was racing. The world was spinning. She could taste her lunch from earlier._

_She said his name._

_“Leave!” The boy thrusted an angry hand into her face, his palm glistening with blisters and cuts. Cynthia buried her head into Gible’s body and ran away. It was difficult to see anything through her tears._

* * *

_All she wanted was to see him again. To see if he was doing well. To search for treasure with him. To listen to his stories and watch him build something great from the scraps he’d collected._

_She never expected him to cast her away like that._

_Cynthia came home to her parents in tears. She couldn’t explain herself. Couldn’t understand why she felt so betrayed and hurt. Her parents saw her bandages and suspected their daughter to be a victim of senseless childhood bullying. They planned to move back as soon as possible._

_“There’s nothing to do at Sunyshore,” her dad had said to her mom once they thought she was asleep. “I don’t know why Cynthia kept wanting to come back.”_

_She thought of the boy often. Of the weird, lonely boy that fiddled with his machines in the cave on the lone edge of the beach. She thought of his smile… his tears…. his awkwardness and his intense gaze._

_And that this sad little boy had risen up to protect her._

_Then one day Cynthia stole away to the place where they first met._ No, she wasn’t letting this end so easily. She wasn’t about to lose the first person who actually understood her.

Would he be here, though? _Cynthia thought as she strayed further from civilization. The sun was high in the sky—almost_ red _between her fingers._

_And sure enough, she spotted him. The boy was sitting in the middle of the cave, mindlessly twisting a screw into the sand while Zubat and Murkrow peered at him with concern. He was too preoccupied in his thoughts to hear Cynthia approach. He only started when Gible yipped softly and waded into his line of sight._

_The boy yelped, causing his Pokemon to jump._

_“You’re here,” Cynthia said with a weak smile. His head snapped up at her voice. He looked much worse than yesterday—jumping at the smallest sounds. His eyes were red._

_Then he shielded himself with his hands._ Oh. At least he treated his wounds. _“I already told you to leave me alone!” he snapped. “Why did you come back?!”_

_Cynthia hesitated at the coldness in his voice. He had created a wall of ice around himself. Her feet refused to move as if she’d voluntary stumbled into quicksand._

_“-----.” She said his name slowly and meaningfully. “What’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing’s wrong, Cynthia! I just don’t want to see you anymore!”_

_“Why?” Her voice cracked. Gible trudged to her feet and gently tugged at her dress._

_“It’s none of your—” Then he froze. The boy’s eyes widened until they were as big as the moon._

_“C-Cynthia? D-don’t cry.”_

_“Huh?” Cynthia rubbed her eyes. Indeed, her hands extracted tears. Hot, salty tears. She barely heard him over the pounding of her heart. Only when his voice grew did she raise her head._

_“I-I’m sorry. P-please don’t c-cry. I-I-I don’t know what to do if you c-cry.”_

_Cynthia fought back a sob but failed horribly. He looked really scared now. His Pokemon had to slap his head to bring him back._

_“Okay. O-okay. C-calm down.” He was muttering to himself. “I-If you calm down, l-look at this r-rationally, s-stop t-t-trembling…” His voice was also cracking with each passing breath. His hands were shuddering violently. He was too overwhelmed to even think straight._

_Then Gible chomped his leg while Zubat and Murkrow bashed his chin._

_“Ow!” The reason returned to his eyes. Somewhat. “Oh. Right. H-here.” He shakily extended a napkin. She took it and stared at him. His face flushed a deep, shameful red._

_“I’m sorry,” Cynthia whispered._

_“F-for what?” He looked shock, as if she’d just confessed to murder._

_“I-I’m ugly. I’m not pretty like the other girls. I-I act brave, but the truth is that I’m really scared… I’m scared that I’ll lose someone precious to me… I…I…” Her words bubbled off into sobs. She can’t even breathe to release this pressure on her chest._

_The boy had gone so silent that she forgot he was even there. “You’re not ugly!” he yelled. “You’re the nicest, kindest girl I’ve ever met! No one’s as nice as you! No one! And don’t apologize! You’ve done n-nothing wrong!” He was waving erratically now, his breaths shallow and all over the place._

_“It’s my fault, Cynthia! It’s always my fault! Because of me, you’ve been hurt! They actually_ hit _you, Cynthia! They’ve ostracized you as a freak! That’s why you should just forget about me, Cynthia!_

_“I never do anything right! I can’t even protect you! I’M THE ONE THAT’S UGLY, NOT YOU!!”_

_The boy collapsed on the sand with his face in his hands, his shoulders jerking with muffled sobs. His words reverberated through the cave, well after he had stopped. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles grew white. His Pokemon didn’t know what to do._

_Cynthia squeezed her chest. She felt air in her lungs, but her brain didn’t register it. Her body was numb. Even her mind was blank. The tears seared into her cheeks like acid._

_Then Cynthia knelt down and gently pulled his head into her chest. He stiffened at her touch, but she refused to let go. Her tears fell on his head like a gentle rain in the spring._

_“Please don’t talk about yourself like that, -----.” She forced the words from her sore throat. “I’m glad I met you, -----. It’s not true… you_ did _protect me. You were so cool, so brave… I couldn’t take my eyes off of you._

_“But please… also speak up for yourself, too. You need to protect yourself for me. It hurts when they pushed me, but it also hurts to see you hold all that pain to yourself, -----.” Her voice was shaking. Cynthia raised her head and let the beach air fill her lungs._

_“Don’t waste your pity on me,” the boy whispered hoarsely._

_Cynthia brought him closer. “It’s not pity. I really, really care about you. You’re precious to me.”_

_They remained in silence with the occasional sobs echoing throughout the cavern walls. Then when her chest stopped hurting, Cynthia said, “I’m still coming back tomorrow, even if you tell me no.”_

_The boy still hadn’t raised his head, yet his words rumbled from the depths of his heart. “Then I’ll be waiting, if you’ll have me.”_

_Cynthia smiled. She buried her face into his shoulders. His hair was soft as Mareep wool. He allowed her to weep on his shoulders for a who knew how long. She heard his own soft sniffling as well. Their Pokemon also joined in this awkward embrace._

_Then Cynthia spoke. “S-so. What’s the story with this Murkrow?”_

_“It fell outside my door. I wanted to make sure it’s healed before it can fly.”_

_Cynthia laughed. A soft, shaky laugh. “You’re the nicest boy I’ve ever met.”_

_A faint sound resonated from within his chest. A shy, brittle sound that’s unlike anything she had ever heard before. A sound that was hesitant and unsure. But then, his laughter grew warmer, and she felt the sun’s rays wafting through the rock walls to envelope them in a buttery warmth._

* * *

Cynthia wakes up the next day with the saline beach air trapped in her throat and eyes. She jumps to the door and flings it open, half-expecting the boy to be on the other side.

Instead Looker stares back at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. “I didn’t even _knock_ yet,” he murmurs. “Are you free right now, Cynthia? I need to talk to you about Cyrus.”


	11. A Small Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia does two favors and sets up an unintentional date.

Looker is still waiting. “Cynthia?”

“Huh?”

“Er… are you sure you’re able to talk?”

Cynthia blinks. She blinks again. The saline beach air still stings her eyes. She whirls to the mirror and gasps.

“Erm… take your time.” Looker quickly closes the door. Cynthia scrambles to recompose herself as the Champion and Hero of Sinnoh.

* * *

Looker folds his hands. “Are you _sure_ that you’re—”

“Yes,” Cynthia snaps. “I can talk. I’m in peak condition.”

“Er—”

Cynthia glares at him. He becomes mildly uncomfortable. Then she relaxes. “I just… had a really vivid dream,” she says as if that explains everything.

“Okay…” he says slowly and unconvincingly.

Cynthia clears her throat. The morning sun filters in through the tall windows of her room. A refreshing breeze carries the scent of berries and flowers into the air. It’s a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, the Starly are singing, and Looker’s looking at her suspiciously.

“So you wanted to talk to me about Cyrus.” Her voice catches at his name. Fortunately, Looker doesn’t notice this.

“Yes.” His face becomes stern again. “What is your relationship to Cyrus?”

_Huh?_ Her heart lurches into her throat. “What do you mean?” Cynthia asks pleasantly, directing her attention to his ears.

Looker rubs a finger against his chin. “I’ve been noticing that he tends to talk when I mention you in interrogations. Remember what happened when I told him about Charon?” He gives Cynthia a look that pierces straight through her spine. “You’re also very curious about him, too.”

“There’s nothing between us,” Cynthia states calmly and evenly. “He’s my enemy. I think of him as nothing more than a criminal. I want to be there in case he has something up his sleeve.”

_That sounds about right._

“What exactly did he do to you while you lost your memory?” Looker continues nonchalantly.

_So this is what it feels like to be on the other side of the interrogation table._ Now she knows why the Elite Four was content to leave Looker to the questioning. _How did Cyrus do it…?_

“He pretended to care about me,” Cynthia says. Her chest tightens. She speaks slowly and carefully. “He tricked me into trusting him. He kept me close so I wouldn’t interfere with his plans.”

Looker’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Had he ever hurt you?”

That question takes her by surprise. Those memories come flooding back, memories she’d repressed and cast away into the abyss of shame. His distance. His words. Cynthia stares at Looker, who frowns uncertainly.

“No.” Cynthia’s voice is small. “He never laid a finger on me.”

Looker taps his fingers against his chin. The gears crank loudly in his head. “The Elite Four said that he kept you hostage after causing your memory loss. He even admitted it himself.”

_What?_ Cynthia’s blood runs cold.

“You told us that you hit your head,” Looker continues, oblivious to her hesitation. “Was that also connected to your memory loss?”

Cynthia stares into her palms. “I don’t know,” she says softly.

Looker takes in her silence. “Cyrus wouldn’t give me specifics.” He shivers from a distant memory of the interrogation. “On top of the broken Time Gears and this spreading paralysis, your memory loss just seems too suspicious to deem it an isolated incident.” He rakes a hand through his hair, frowning.

“Do you remember the events leading to your incident, Cynthia?”

There’s only dreams. Misplaced dreams with no correlation to the other. Visions that might or might not have happened: falling rocks, a foggy lake, a crimson light. “I don’t have any solid leads,” Cynthia mutters through clenched teeth.

Looker sighs. “Great. The impossible just becomes more impossible…”

Cynthia flicks her gaze to the windows and back. _Did Looker know about her secret meetings with Cyrus? Did the guards tell?_ “So why’d you ask me about that crook, Looker?”

The Detective snaps his fingers. “Oh. Right.” He straightens. “You said that Cyrus manipulated you into trusting him, right?” She’s suddenly arrested by his intense stare. “Do you still… have feelings for him?”

“No,” Cynthia spits with more force than she intended. “Why would I trust the _monster_ who tried to destroy the world?”

Something tugs in her chest. A ghostly hand of a little girl of bygone days.

Looker raises a heavy brow. She holds his gaze without faltering. Finally, the Detective sits back into his chair, a wave of relief washing across his face.

“Good,” he chirps. “I thought we have a conflict of interest here. You seem to hate his guts as much as everyone else.”

“Yes…”

“I have a favor, Cynthia.”

“A favor?”

“Yes. I have to report back to Headquarters soon to give a physical report of the current case. That means I’ll be absent from the investigation.”

Cynthia breathes through her mouth. “So… what do you want me to do?”

Looker has this strange smile. “I think Cyrus fears you. Or, you hold some power over him. I’m not sure what’s going on in that man’s head, but he’s much more attentive when I mention your name.” Looker huffs. “Well… attentive as someone as _Cyrus_ can get.”

Cynthia swallows the dry lump in her throat. “What are you trying to say, Looker?”

“This: I know that it might be dangerous, but I need your help dragging some answers out of him. You might get Cyrus to talk. We haven’t located a single Time Gear or come close to understand the incident in Mystifying Forest.” Looker takes a deep breath. “Please, Cynthia. Can you talk to him? I’ll accompany you, of course.”

To Looker’s surprise, Cynthia remains surprisingly calm as he talks. To Looker, she doesn’t look the least bit surprised. _Oh no. I knew I should’ve tried to softer approach,_ he mentally slaps himself.

“Please, Cynthia?” Looker presses his hands together. “I didn’t tell anyone else. My pride’s on the line. You’re the only person I feel comfortable telling this to.”

Then Cynthia lifts her eyes. “Looker? I need to tell you something…”

* * *

Looker’s eyes are wide and bloodshot when Cynthia closes her mouth. He begins to speak, chooses against it, drags a hand through his hair, and tries again.

“You already saw him?” Looker squeaks. Cynthia diverts her attention to her hands.

“Yes…”

“And he told you all of _that_?” Looker shakes his head in disbelief. “Just after you answered a few trivial questions?”

Cynthia nods slowly.

Looker isn’t done yet. “A-and the Time Gear _wasn’t_ broken?! And the planet is on an inevitable course to paralysis?”

“That’s just his theory,” Cynthia says meekly. “It doesn’t mean that it’s true.”

Looker clamps his jaw shut. He proceeds to pace around the room, head down, fingers drumming up and down his arms.

“Looker?” Cynthia says. “I’m sorry for not telling you in the first place.”

“Sorry?” Looker’s head snaps up. His eyes are glinting. “Cynthia, this is a major breakthrough! We have leads! We can finally take this investigation in the right step!”

Cynthia merely blinks when he takes her hands and shakes them vigorously. “You’re not angry?”

“Angry? Cynthia, you took matters into your own hands and _cracked_ him! Like a Blissey’s egg! This calls for a celebration!” Looker whoops and prances around the room. All the stress from earlier vanishes from his face. He looks positively _vibrant_. “I can finally put together a comprehensive report for Headquarters! Take _that_ , you heartless machine!”

“Um… that’s not what really happened…”

But Looker is too exuberant to hear her doubts. “Just what I expected from the Champion and Hero of Sinnoh! You keep surprising me every time, Cynthia! Without you, this whole investigation wouldn’t be possible in the first place!”

Cynthia returns his smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

When Looker recomposes himself, he turns back to Cynthia. “You’re free to interrogate him at any time, Cynthia. No more needing to sneak out. Do whatever it is you have to do… within reason, of course.”

“You’re putting me in charge of this investigation?” Cynthia mutters in disbelief.

Looker scratches his head. “Well… not _formally_. Would you mind looking over things while I’m gone? It won’t be long.”

The normal Cynthia would’ve obliged. After all, _that_ was what it meant to be the Champion of Sinnoh. But _this_ Cynthia isn’t sure if she’s up to it. Her own selfish interests clash with her obligations.

_The meats and cheeses will never touch_ , she reminds herself.

Looker announces his decision to the rest of the Elite Four. “So Cynthia’s your new impromptu leader,” he concludes with a grin.

“How wonderful!” Bertha says, casing a slight flush to bloom across Cynthia’s face.

“You are so. Freaking. Cool.” Flint’s eyes are literally flaming. “You single-handedly _destroyed_ him!”

“What did he tell you?” Aaron bounces excitedly.

But Lucian does not echo the sentiment. He stares at Cynthia as if she’d gone crazy. “You _sneaked out_ to see him? You gave a no-good criminal your time?”

“I needed answers,” Cynthia retorts. “I’m sick and tired of sitting on my ass.”

Lucian opens his mouth when Bertha cuts in. “Lucian, I think this is a good opportunity to make progress in this investigation.”

“Yeah!” Flint adds, much to Lucian’s chagrin. “Cynthia was so awesome that he practically _spat_ out the answers!”

“Um, Flint, that’s not really what happened—”

Aaron chimes in over Cynthia’s voice. “I bet you made him spill all sorts of secrets! The most secretest of secrets!”

Looker claps his hands to bring attention back to the center. “You have nothing to worry about, Lucian, Bertha, Aaron, and Flint. He’s under tight security. And Cynthia can handle herself very well. I believe in her.”

It’s beginning to feel very warm in the room. A suffocating kind of warmth unlike that from her dream.

* * *

When Looker bids his farewells, Cynthia regroups with the Elite Four.

“Cyrus told me that we were on the right track,” she explains. Everyone’s eyes are on her, even Lucian’s, who still looks a bit annoyed. “We’re looking for something particularly distinguishing in these dungeons. If we find it, then we have a good chance at locating the Time Gear.”

“What if he’s lying?” Lucian snaps.

Cynthia’s eye twitches. “He’s the biggest lead we have,” she says calmly. “If we keep sitting on our asses, then time might stop altogether.”

That revelation crushes the mood in the room.

“H-hey. I’m hoping that part’s not true,” Flint chuckles weakly. Aaron mutters some agreement.

“It’s just a theory.” Cynthia repeats that to herself as well.

Bertha spreads the map of Sinnoh on the table. “So based on Cynthia’s report, we can eliminate these places…” She crosses the surface in a dark red marker. “There’s still quite a bit of ground to cover. There’s the desert, the forest, the cave, the woods, this hill…”

“Didn’t we already search Foggy Forest?” Lucian says with a frown.

“The fog was too thick to continue,” Bertha replies. “And it’s growing thicker as we speak. Defog wasn’t enough. If we do investigate again, we need to come up with a plan.”

Cynthia stares at the map. _Foggy Forest… now where had she heard that before…?_

“Northern desert is nothing but quicksand,” Flint is saying. “What are we supposed to do with all that sand?”

“There’s Shimmer Hill, Apple Woods… Crystal Cave…” Aaron creates a path on the map with his finger. “All dead-ends. There’s just grass, apples, and rocks and more rocks.”

Lucian’s frown deepens. “What a load of nonsense.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart, Lucian,” Flint says dismissively. “This sounds pretty fun! We’ve eliminated a lot of places already. We’re so close!” Despite the current state of the world, Cynthia allows herself a small smile.

Bertha looks at her. “So, Cynthia. Where do we start?”

Cynthia glances at the older woman, at the expectant men, and drops her gaze. She bites the insides of her cheek. “I’m not sure,” she says after a brief silence.

And later, when the sun begins to sets, Cynthia takes to Togekiss’s back and soars across the harsh orange skies.

_At least she doesn’t have to lie anymore._

* * *

Cyrus watches Cynthia with a blank face as she puts her hands on the table. She matches his glare before she loses again.

“Congratulations,” he croaks without malice nor mirth in his voice. “The Detective told me you’re now in charge of the investigation.”

Cynthia isn’t really sure how to feel about that. “That means you’re now obligated to cooperate, _Cyrus._ ” His eye twitches at his name. He merely looks to the side, his mental shields thicker than ever.

Ever since last time, the silence doesn’t feel as nerve-wracking as when she first started seeing him. He’s still distant, but it’s slightly easier to get him to talk. She’s becoming familiar with his game. She’s also getting better at keeping her feelings under control.

_“You hold some power over him,_ ” Looker’s words echo in her mind.

Cynthia spreads the map of Sinnoh on the table. “So far we’ve eliminated these areas. The problem is knowing where to look next.”

Cyrus slowly raises his head. His brows are furrowed. “You… actually listened to me?”

Cynthia blinks. “What do you..?” Then she scrambles to recompose her mask. “D-don’t let it get to you. You’re our biggest lead, unfortunately. If we find out that you’ve been lying to us, there will be consequences!”

The threats bounce harmlessly off his shields. Cyrus frowns and returns to studying the map. Cynthia steadies a hand over her chest and takes a minute to remember her train of thought.

The silence is only broken by the tick-tocking of the clock. She’s aware of the guards and cameras in the room, but right now she sees only him, scrunched over the table in deep concentration. Her eyes linger on the chains around his feet, the handcuffs… the dark indention around his forehead where the bandages used to be before she yanks her attention back to the task at hand. Her heart continues to hammer in her chest.

For a second, for the briefest slip in time, she catches the salty beach air in this sterile room.

And then Cynthia steadies herself for the moment of truth. “Cyrus.”

He jolts slightly at her unusually gentle tone. He looks at her suspiciously.

“Why did I lose my memory?” She stares right into his eyes.

A crack of hesitation shows from those icy walls. “Why are you asking me?” The coldness returns to his face. “You can ask anyone else to arrive at the same answer.”

Cynthia allows the doubt to sneak up her heart. “Were you really responsible for my memory loss?”

Cyrus’s frown darkens. The blizzard begins picking up in his eyes. “Yes,” he states with such cold finality that Cynthia visibly flinches. “I admitted it to the Detective already. Talk to him when he returns.”

“That’s not what you said before,” Cynthia whispers.

Cyrus doesn’t meet her eyes. “So I lied. You shouldn’t be surprised at this point, Champion.”

The bitter taste resurfaces. “Why would you do that?” It takes all willpower to keep her voice from rising.

Cyrus gives her an empty, icy sneer. “Because I’m your enemy, Hero. You stood in the way of my ambitions.”

Cynthia forces a deep, shaky breath. _Yes… he was right. She shouldn’t be surprised anymore._ But the usual anger isn’t present. Nor is the repulsion, the ire, the disgust. No, there’s a whole other emotion that doesn’t fit the scene. An uninvited guest. An emotion that makes her heart weigh like lead.

“Then why did you help me?” Cynthia mutters. A glaring crack punctures through his defenses.

“I already told you,” Cyrus says in dead monotone.

Cynthia shakes her head angrily. “But is that the truth?”

“I expected you to have more pressing questions,” he snaps a little too quickly.

“This _is_ important!” Cynthia thrusts a trembling finger to his face. “This is important to _me_! I know you’re not telling me everything! What do you have to hide from this simple, _trivial_ question?!”

Cyrus doesn’t falter under her increasing volume. Instead, his glare darkens until his eyes are almost black. Cynthia quickly turns away before the darkness can swallow her whole. She squeezes her eyes shut until reason clears her head. She salvages a thread of resentment and uses it to bolster her confidence.

Then Cyrus speaks. “I have a condition.”

_Oh Arceus, more questions?!?!_ “Why do you play so hard to get, _criminal_? It’s just a damn question!” He waits. She groans. “Fine. Spit it out!”

“It’s not a question. I have a favor.”

Cynthia’s face contorts in exasperation. “A favor? There really _is_ something wrong with your head!” And yet, she waits.

“Allow me to accompany you to Crystal Cave,” Cyrus says flatly without missing a beat.

Cynthia gapes. “W-what? Repulsion quickly takes over, and she leers at him. “Why the hell would I do that? I thought you’ve changed, you manipulative bastard, but you’re still after the Time Gear all along?”

Cyrus’s eyes are frosty as he absorbs her barbed words. “Do you agree?”

“No!” Cynthia snarls. She shoots up in her chair and glares at him for the evil mastermind that he is. “You’re crazy! All I wanted was just a simple… ugh! Forget it, _freak!_ I’m just wasting my time with you!”

Cyrus just nods. He doesn’t look a bit surprised in the least. “Of course. Then we have nothing more to discuss, Champion.”

Cynthia’s chair scrapes against the metal floor. She snatches the map back, making sure that the parchment hits his face. “No, we don’t.” The guards rush to reposition Cyrus’s restraints before hoisting him to his feet.

_How dare he dangle bait before her? That dangerously sweet poison in front of her face?! Why did she have such high expectations of him? She thought she was winning. Why did she think he’ll answer her selfish questions without complaints? This sly, scheming, heartless fr—_

“Wait,” Cynthia hisses. The guards stop. She turns around. “You. Why Crystal Cave, of all places?”

Cyrus calmly returns her stare. “That’s where you should be looking next.”

The shock breaks from her face. “H-how… Are you sure?”

Cyrus’s expression is unreadable. “I am positive. If you’ll have me, I can lead you to the next Time Gear.”

* * *

Cynthia sped back before the seeds of doubt would blossom into a vile flower within her heart. She wouldn’t let him mess with her mind anymore. She won’t make the same mistake that landed her into this situation in the first place.

Bertha sees Cynthia sitting in her despondent corner and approaches the latter. “You went to see Cyrus again, didn’t you?” Sometimes, Cynthia is glad to have another woman on the team.

Cynthia relays Cyrus’s terms and conditions to the Elite Four… and **_only_** his demands. When finished, everyone gapes at her as if she’d just sprouted wings.

“Holy Lopunny he said _what_?” Flint gasps. “He wanted _what_?”

“You went to see him _again_?” Lucian struggles to keep his irritation under control.

“No, no wait!” Aaron waves his hands. “You did it, Cynthia! He told you what you wanted to hear! Crystal Cave! That’s where we need to go! You won his game!”

“That’s true, but…” Bertha purses her lips. “I came with Looker to Crystal Cave. We searched everywhere. I am _certain_ that we tore that cave inside out.”

Cynthia glances at the older woman. “He sounded very confident that the next Time Gear is in Crystal Cave. Are you sure you searched _everywhere,_ Bertha? There could—”

“Yes. I might be old, but I have the eyes of a Staraptor.”

Flint shifts in his seat. “So… what are you gonna do, Cynthia? I mean, he’s just dangling bait in front of us. If we take it, we’re fools. If we don’t, we might be missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Everyone’s eyes are on her. It’s times like these when Cynthia questions herself on whether it would’ve been better if she stayed at Celestic Town and learned medicine from her grandmother. _That backwards town trapped in time._ Now that she’s the Hero, one little choice can alter the course of her story and history altogether.

So imagine her shock when Lucian speaks. “We take the bait, of course.”

“WHAT?”

Lucian unfurls his hands as if it’s obvious. “We make him believe that we’re falling along his little trap. This is the perfect opportunity to catch him in the act and lock him away for good.” His glasses glint in a way that makes Cynthia shiver from an unseen chill. “If he _is_ telling the truth, then we get our Time Gear, and we can forget all about him.”

“And… if he’s lying?” Flint squints.

Lucian makes a dismissive but evident display of crushing his palms together. The impact strikes Cynthia’s ears like a thunderclap. “There will be consequences.”

Flint glances between the group. “I mean… he’ll be restrained and stuff, right? We have Pokemon. There’s four—five of us and one of him. If we stick in a small group, it’ll be much more efficient.” He slams his hands on the table. “We’re not letting you go alone, Cynthia. If he dares lay a finger on you, we’ll have his ass before he can blast off to space again.”

Cynthia feels oddly uncomfortable with that analogy. Nevertheless, she straightens. “You know what, everyone? You’re right. I’m letting fear stop me from what matters most. As my duty as the Champion of Sinnoh, I have an obligation to save the world first before all else.”

“We’re here for you.” Bertha gives a warm smile. Aaron pumps his fists in the air. Flint grins. Lucian smirks.

Cynthia isn’t about to buckle under his spell. _No, she’ll use him to her advantage and kill two Starly with one evolutionary stone._

* * *

Back at the prison, Cynthia towers triumphantly over the Galactic criminal, who merely regards her with an even stare.

“Very well,” she says. “You can ‘accompany’ me to Crystal Cave… on my conditions: I’m bringing the Elite Four. There’s nowhere to run. You either make good on your promise, or you’ll be very, _very_ sorry.”

Cyrus nods. He’s still frustratingly compliant to her demands… as if he _expected it_. Cynthia keeps her own exasperation under control by reminding herself to breath.

“And also,” she adds with a glare, “you’ll tell me the truth after this is all over.”

“You have my word,” he states stonily.

Cynthia sneaks another sigh of relief. _Please let this thing go smoothly._ “Okay. We have a deal. And a promise. If you break it—”

“I know my place,” Cyrus snaps, and her carefully constructed ego crumbles like dust. Icy daggers pierce her heart. “I at least have the integrity to uphold my end of the bargain. If I do step out of line, you have an arsenal of police, friends, and Pokemon, do you not? Do as you wish.”

Cynthia immediately tears her eyes away. “Okay,” she murmurs to the table. “Glad we understand each other.”

Cyrus’s gaze is also somewhere else. “Likewise. I shall see you tomorrow, then, at Crystal Cave.”


	12. Secret of the Crystals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster brews and someone gets hurt. Cynthia finally makes up her mind. Later, Cyrus helps her solve a puzzle.

Cynthia’s heart almost stops when she hears the dreaded sound of chains dragging across gravel. She makes the mistake of lifting her head. Their eyes happen to meet before Cyrus immediately breaks contact.

“Detective Looker thanks you all again for your cooperation.” The guard tips his hat towards the Champion and the Elite Four. He shoves Cyrus forward. “We don’t foresee any problems with this toothpick.”

Cynthia suddenly has the strangest feeling that she’s being watched. When she turns around, it’s just the Elite Four. Cyrus remains blank-faced when Flint grabs the chain and tugs him forward. Aaron snickers. Lucian gives the most condescending smirk she has ever seen.

“Don’t worry, Cynthia.” Flint flashes her a reassuring wink. “This punk’s not going to leave my sight.”

Cynthia swallows the bitter taste down her throat.

The guards continue, “We’ll be out here in case anything happens.” He gestures to the crystal-laden entrance. “But use your best judgement if things _do_ get out of hand,” he adds with an ominous wink.

Lucian tips his glasses. The smirk on his lips only grows crueler. “Oh, we will. Right, Cynthia?”

Cynthia might’ve said something. She might’ve nodded. The back of her throat burns until it almost manifests as physical pain.

Aaron shoots a stink-eye in that direction. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this. How are you sure that a Time Gear is even here?”

Cyrus’s lips are set in a tight line.

“I don’t like it either,” Bertha says. “But we have a lead, and it might be our only chance to save the Time Gear… before we run out of time.” 

Flint looks to his colleagues and shrugs slightly. “All right, then… Come on, moon man!” He gives Cyrus a rough shove to the back. “Let’s go find us a Time Gear! Mush!”

Cynthia stumbles to Flint. “Wait, Flint. Let me handle Cy—”

Lucian holds out a hand. “We can’t risk you putting your life in danger again. Especially with _this_ Galactic criminal.” He turns to Cynthia with a hard smile. “Let us take care of this.”

“But—”

Aaron rolls his neck dismissively. “Don’t be such a worry-wart, Cynthia! And besides, he can’t hurt you like that! Believe in The Flint!” He follows Lucian into Crystal Cave. “The sooner we get this done, the less we’ll see of him ever again.”

Cynthia stares at their retreating back.

“Let’s go, Cynthia,” Bertha says gently before vanishing into the Cave. Cynthia inhales sharply and follows her group. They have a Time Gear to locate.

_Let’s just hope that this unsettling feeling in her gut is just gas._

* * *

Footprints of both human and Pokemon litter the grounds of Crystal Cave. Cynthia remembered Looker’s stories of his failed expeditions. _How many times had the Detective been here? Walking around in circles and arriving at the same dead-end?_

_Was Cyrus telling the truth? Did he really know how to navigate this maze?_

Aside from her growing unease, the crystals are certainly a sight to behold. The natural wonders of the cave fulfill every aspect of her imagination—and more: Crystals rising like spires from the ground. Crystal hanging like Zubat from the ceiling. Crystals strewn across the walls, peeking into waterfalls and creating small streams. The Cave’s Pokemon peek out at this strange party before scampering elsewhere.

The more Cynthia remains in this Cave, the heavier the chilly air seems to press on her shoulders.

A peculiar bouquet of crystalline flowers catches her attention: a multicolored triad of shades of gold. “I’ve never seen crystals this color before,” she mutters to no one in particular. The rocks emit a pleasantly cool sensation.

Aaron casts a disinterested glance in her direction. “Rocks are just rocks. It’s all the same. Bug Pokemon are much more beautiful.”

Bertha chuckles. “Actually, rocks are more than dirt and pebbles...”

“I agree.” Lucian taps a finger to his chin as he observes his surroundings.

The impact of colliding bodies shatters the mood of thoughtful musings. Chains rattle. Flint curses. “Hey, punk! What gives?” 

Cynthia notices that Cyrus had stopped walking. His head is tilted slightly so that she catches a glimpse of his eyes--eyes as icy blue as the crystals themselves. He finally looks at her for the first time today. Cynthia stares back, mouth agape.

And then he returns his attention to the road ahead.

_What was_ that _all about?_

“Hey, Galactic punk!” Flint seizes Cyrus by the collar and spins him around. “Why’d you stop out of nowhere, huh? Hey! I’m talking to you!” Flint clamps his mouth when Cyrus’s glare threatens to freeze him from the inside-out. The former backs away with his hands up. Cyrus simply turns and continues deeper into the cave.

Everyone stares at his retreating back. Then Lucian gestures to Flint and tells him to catch up before the criminal escapes. Flint reluctantly runs after Cyrus. The latter simply waits for Flint to approach, his eyes frigid as Cynthia’s friend sheepishly retrieves the chain.

“What are you, a robot?” Flint mutters to the ground.

“I told you he’s not human!” Aaron hisses once everyone congregates around Flint.

Lucian sizes Cyrus with a sneer. “Regardless if you’re actually just a machine, you’re just a no-good crook. Don’t even _think_ of giving us the slip… unless you want a repeat of _that_ day.” He claps his hands with deliberate emphasis on the sound of impact.

Cyrus never retorts. The blizzard picks up in his eyes until all three men shiver from a nonexistent chill.

“All right, all right.” Bertha steps in before the tension can explode like a bomb. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

Cyrus wordlessly resumes his duty. The Elite Four exchanges glances before advancing. Cynthia trails behind the crowd. She slowly unclenches her fingers, and to her surprise, her knuckles have turned white.

As the group traverses deeper into the cave, the source of light switches from the sun to the pulsating crystals. A thick layer of crystal dust swirls around their feet. Cynthia loses track of how many times she had to stop to lick her lips.

_So Cyrus_ did _know his way._ “You weren’t lying,” Cynthia whispers under her breath. _But why agree to accompany her in the first place, if he already knew of the Time Gear...?_

Bertha turns. “Lying about what, Cynthia?” Then everyone’s eyes are on her.

“Nothing.” Suddenly her fingers are the most interesting thing in the world. She feels a pressure on her head—a pair of eyes as sharp as a knife—and then it’s gone.

“Do you even know where you’re going, moon man?” Flint groans when Cyrus stops before a split trail. Despite everything that befell the man so far, he still carried the air of a leader: a heavy, intense presence reserved for the former leader of the ambitious Team Galactic.

It still makes Cynthia’s heart ache to see what he had reduced into.

Cyrus stares at the ground with his head tilted. She knows that stance. He’s committing the area into his memory, picking apart the clues and analyzing them with his complicated mental process. He takes one long, good look at the patterns of crystals on the ceiling before pointing to the left-most path.

“What if it’s a trap?” Lucian snaps. Cyrus responds by trudging down the path first. After a few uneventful seconds, the rest of the group rushes to catch up to him. The path opens up to not a dead-end, but another passage of pulsating crystals and waterfalls.

“My word,” Bertha mutters, low enough for Cynthia to hear. The older woman’s gaze isn’t on the landscape, however. 

“So what’s the deal with the inevitable Planet’s Paralysis?” Aaron squeaks after they successfully avoided every dead-end. The man of the directed question never turns; in fact, he doesn’t seem to have acknowledged that Aaron spoke in the first place.

Cynthia notices Aaron bouncing up to Flint and whispering something in his ear. The two snicker, a dangerous sound that makes Cynthia’s blood boil for no apparent reason.

Flint yanks on the chain. Cyrus jerks backwards before whirling around with a murderous glare. Flint’s smirk falters, but he fixes that problem by occupying herself with the crystals in the background.

“How’s the weather in space jail?” Flint chirps. Aaron giggles. Even Lucian huffs. The humor doesn’t reach Cynthia’s ears.

Flint dabs at an imaginary tear. “Come on. At least _pretend_ that you actually have emotions.” He thrusts his face up against Cyrus’s. The move is so unexpected and disturbing that Cyrus stumbles back—and trips over Aaron’s extended leg.

Cynthia’s brain switches to autopilot as she pushes Bertha aside and dives forward. She misses his hand but manages to derail his fall. Instead of falling on the back of his head, Cyrus bangs in his chin against the cold, hard ground.

Red dots dance before Cynthia’s eyes as Cyrus shakily picks himself up. She unintentionally grips her own chin. The silence is deafening as Cyrus stares at the ground in disbelief. He blinks hard and gingerly holds his sleeves to his chin. A crimson rose blossoms on the orange fabric.

_Oh Arceus._ Cynthia scrambles to his side, despite the Elite Four’s protests. She reaches a hesitant hand… and yanks it back before his eyes can burn a hole in her flesh.

Flint and Aaron back off when Cyrus pulls himself to his feet. He doesn’t bother to address their tasteless prank.

But Lucian isn’t letting this go so easily. “After all that, and you _still_ don’t feel anything?” He scowls. “I have had enough of your nonsense. I know you’re not mute. You might’ve managed to trick Cynthia like you did with that Venus boy—”

“Saturn,” Cyrus hisses. His voice sounds as if it’s recently been dragged across gravel. Lucians stops cold. Cyrus glowers at the other man, his sleeve pressed to his chin, his face dark and fierce. “His name is Saturn.”

“Apples and oranges,” Lucian spits back.

Bertha storms over and pulls Lucian back by his collar and the pranksters by their ears. She frowns. They blanch.

“I am disappointed in you three!” Bertha scolds in a way that even makes Cynthia feel ashamed. As if her own grandmother had caught her in the act. “Aaron, Flint, there was nothing funny about your little show! You are members of the Elite Four, not a pair of ten year-olds!

“And Lucian.” The man in question twitches. “I know you hate this idea. I know you’d rather take everything into your own hands. But I expected more from all of you! The fate of the world is at stake here, and you’d rather act like _spoiled children_?” Her voice reverberates throughout the cavern, echoing even to the deepest recesses of the cave.

“We’re sorry,” they murmur.

Bertha’s frown deepens. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing.”

“You’re wasting time,” Cyrus croaks. He brushes aside the men’s reproachful stares and turns to the path. He passes Cynthia with a cold, sterile breeze. Cyrus pauses to orient himself before stumbling into the darkness. Bertha raises an eyebrow, and the men follow suit.

When Bertha looks back, her face falls. “Oh, Cynthia…” She kneels down beside the Champion. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

_What?_ Cynthia rubs her eyes. Bertha’s right. _Why is she crying?_ Her stomach and throat is also burning. Even her chin is throbbing from this phantom pain. She relaxes her fists with a small hiss; her nails have left deep indentions into her skin.

“Cynthia.” Bertha’s voice floats from somewhere else. “Cynthia, breathe.” The red dots streak across her eyes like distorted rays of light. “Take it slow. Yes… good… feel my hand…”

Her head begins to clear after a while. _The mission… what was the mission again…?_ Crystals. Water. The Time Gear. _Right, right… The fate of the world._

“Thanks, Bertha.” Cynthia mutters. Bertha gives a small, reassuring smile. She helps Cynthia to her feet. “Sorry… I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately…”

“It’s all right dear. You’ve been through a lot. Are you well enough to walk?”

“Yes.” But somehow, Bertha’s comfort isn’t what she needs right now. Kindness feels like a slap across her face. There’s an empty, hungry void in her heart. She knows that her friends are concerned for her, but… there’s also this uncanny feeling that she had betrayed something else. Failed to protect something that’s also precious to her.

_But what the hell_ is _it?!_

Despite the coldness of the cave, Cynthia feels feverish. She puts a hand on her forehead in a futile attempt to dispel the excess heat from her face. 

Then with a sharp exhale, Cynthia strikes her fist against a crystal. The glass shatters into a shrill crescendo of falling shards. It jars her brain to clarity.

“ _Cynthia?”_

“I’m okay now.” Cynthia flashes a weak, reassuring smile. She shows Bertha her hand. “No blood, see? Let’s go, Bertha. Before we lose anyone.”

_Before this feeling of impending doom actually becomes reality._

* * *

The party continues in silence while keeping their distance from Cyrus. The latter proceeds without turning back, only slowing his pace occasionally to dab a sleeve to his chin. Cynthia unconsciously wanders to his side, often peering at him through the cracks in her bangs.

Cyrus refuses to look at her.

“Are we there yet?” Flint mutters to the ground.

Silence. Aaron clears his throat. “H-hey. Are we there yet?” There’s only one person that knows the answer to that question. So it makes sense that everyone is caught off-guard when he actually answers.

“You should be.” Cyrus’s voice is faint.

“Great. More puzzles,” Lucian grumbles with his usual derision. “But at least we’re getting somewhere…”

The cave opens to a large chamber of light. Once Cynthia regains her bearings, she gasps. They’ve reached the deepest part of the cavern.

It’s like a planetarium of crystals.

Once again, her heart begins to race. Just like that time in Mystifying Forest. Like that time in her nightmares with the foggy lake. The same symptoms that appear whenever a Time Gear was mentioned.

Cyrus steals a furtive glance at Cynthia as she races to the center of the chamber. Three magnificent crystals tower to the ceiling in a triangular formation. These rocks radiate a powerful presence that sets them apart from the sea of nameless others… a presence that just screams, “ _Mystery!”_ Cynthia gravitates to a crystal and touches it.

With a sharp electrical surge, the crystal changes into a brilliant shade of blue before her eyes. Aaron rushes to copy her. Flint slams his hand against a crystal. Lucian reluctantly pokes his own.

“What a strange phenomenon,” Bertha muses as she watches the colors change. “I never thought there was a room like this… But it’s another dead-end. There’s nothing here.”

Cynthia cycles through the colors. Something about Cyrus’s words tug at her memory. _A puzzle._ Her fingers twitch with adrenaline. _This area is guarding a secret. Treasure? Or maybe…_

“It’s a puzzle, everyone!” Cynthia announces. They all turn to her. Cyrus listens to her proclamation with a slight tilt of his head.

“What?” Flint glances around the room. “What puzzle?”

Cynthia’s breaths are leaving her body faster than she’s taking in. “This isn’t a dead end. It’s a puzzle for the next location. We’re close. We’re so close to the Time Gear. Once we solve this, the path will be revealed.” She pinches her hip to keep her giddiness from overloading her judgement. 

Lucian folds his arms. “Are you sure about the Time Gear? And what do you mean by a ‘puzzle?’ What do we even do to proceed?”

Cynthia examines the crystals again. “I know there’s some meaning behind the colors. Can someone help me?”

Lucian watches Bertha and Aaron hurry to Cynthia’s position. Flint shifts nervously, his eyes flickering to the silent man beside him. Cyrus never lifts his attention from Cynthia.

“Okay,” Cynthia says. “Help me match the colors.” The crystals synchronize to a shade of deep green. To blue. Black. Yellow. Pink. Orange. Nothing clicks. Nothing moves out of place.

“Strange.” Cynthia purses her lips. “Isn’t here a hint or something around here?”

“Just rocks,” Lucian grumbles.

Cynthia’s frustrated face glares back from the crystal’s pristine surface. _Oh. Does she really look that bad?_ She frowns at her reflection, as if it can elaborate.

Then when she raises her head, all eyes are on Cyrus. _Oh. Of course. If anyone should know, it’s Cyrus._

And from the looks of it, he’s also connecting the puzzle. His head is down, his eyes dim, his brain processing what can be a potentially disastrous yet ingenious conclusion.

While everyone is awaiting Cyrus’s verdict, Flint suddenly stiffens. He whirls around, searching for the mosquito that bit him. An uneasy chill settles down his spine. Something vile sneaks into his nose and creeps into his heart. Suddenly he’s gripped by a primal, unexplained fear of… of _something_ not human. Cynthia notices Flint’s face turning white but dismisses it as another one of his obnoxious pranks.

That is her mistake.

A smile breaks on Cynthia’s face once Cyrus’s head snaps up. _He’s got it. He has a—_

“EARTH TO SPACE FREAK!” Flint’s body lurches forward. He shoves Cyrus as if dashing a straw doll across the ground. The impact of fist against back reminds Cynthia of an exploding bomb. Cyrus barely has time to gasp before his face collides into the crystal.

The pale blue color sours into a sordid yellow.

Cynthia can bet her Garchomp that there was indeed a “crack,” and that something was indeed, without a doubt, broken beyond repair.

She can hear a speck of dust fall in the silence that follows. Cyrus clumsily picks himself up on his elbows and freezes. His shoulders are tensed as something dark spreads on the ground.

_He’s not breathing. He’s not moving._

And she almost goes blind as the red dots swell to cancerous tumors.

Cynthia slowly cranes her head to Flint. Her nostrils are flaring; her shoulders are heaving. Flint is stiff as a board, his expression almost… frenzied. He stares at the ground with a perplexed grin.

_Oh Arceus. There’s something in his eyes that doesn’t look right at all. It reminds her of…_

_Of…_

**_Of Charon._ **

Then Cynthia finally snaps.

Flint is still in his trance when Cynthia storms into his face and pushes him against the wall. He lands with a dull “thump.”

_“What the_ hell _, Flint?”_

"C-Cynthia?” Flint shakes his head. He seems to have no idea what had just happened.

“ _You almost KILLED him!”_

Flint still has that dumb, confused look on his face. Cynthia moves his jaw so he can see the incident in question.

And the horror breaks into his eyes. Whatever that had possessed him is gone. “Oh Arceus…” His voice is very, very small. “Did I… did _I do that…?”_

“ _YOU KNOW FULL WELL WHAT YOU DID_!”

“N-no! Really! I-I don’t know what came over me…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Aaron awkwardly hovering closer to Cyrus.

Cynthia yanks her hands from Flint’s collar. He slouches to the ground in a state of shock. “Stay away from him!” Cynthia snarls. Aaron immediately scampers back to safer grounds.

Lucian holds up his hands. “Cynthia, please calm down. It’s nothing—”

“ _Shut_ up _, Lucian_!”

Lucian’s jaw drops.

“Cynthia?” Bertha begins only for her words to fall on deaf ears.

“Cynthia, what are you doing?” Aaron squeaks when she pushes him aside. Everyone gapes as she rushes to Cyrus and kneels at his side. He’s crumpled over like a brittle leaf.

“Cynthia! That’s dangerous—”

The Champion whips her head to the Elite Four. “I have had ENOUGH of your crap!” Flint, Aaron, and Lucian violently flinches. “You keep treating him like a piece of trash! And you act as if it’s _perfectly okay_ to hurt someone when they’re already down!

“ _Well, I am the leader of this mission! And I command you all to LEAVE CYRUS ALONE!”_

The men stare at her with newfound fear. Bertha purses her lips. A drop of water falls from the ceiling and hits the ground with a crisp _crunch._

Cynthia peers into his face. “Cyrus?” she whispers. Her trembling hands graze his shoulders. She feels him recoil with such force that his entire body jerks to the side. She hears him utter a sharp, pained hiss. Cynthia exhales through her teeth and gently searches for his face.

“Oh, Cyrus…” A trail of dark blood has and is cascading down his nose. A growing puddle forms near his elbows. _He’d lost quite a lot of blood._ “Hold still. I’ll loosen your handcuffs…”

Cyrus instantly buries his face into his sleeves. Cynthia catches something that sounds like a rasp of dry air.

“ _Why would you say that_?”

Cynthia blinks. “What?”

When Cyrus decides to speak again, his voice is _way_ too faint for her comfort. “Are you familiar with the Sinnoh legends concerning lakes?” he asks to no one in particular.

Cynthia shakes her head. “Yes, but Cyrus—”

“Focus, Champion,” he grunts. Cynthia would’ve pressed on his injury if not for the finality in his tone. She slowly rises to her feet but never takes her eyes off his head. Off of the stitches that are still very much there.

“Y-yes, I have.” Her grandmother had instilled that legend into Cynthia’s brain ever since she was a little girl. “Sinnoh has three distinctive lakes. Each of the lake houses a Pokemon whose element reflects the human spirit: Uxie—knowledge, Azelf—willpower, and Mesprit—emotion.”

“What are you getting at?” Aaron squeaks. Cynthia almost forgets that the others are here.

Cyrus blinks—hard. Cynthia’s heart flutters uneasily. “‘When knowledge is expanded, life is enriched. When… when emotion awakens, joy and sorrow coexist. When a decision is made, action is taken.’” He exhales stiffly. “That’s… that’s what I’ve deciphered from the ruins at Celestic Town.”

“But what does that have to do with anything?” Lucian mutters.

Cyrus might’ve said something. Cynthia’s stomach heaves once she realizes that the blood had soaked up his whole arm.

“Young man,” Bertha says. Lucian and Aaron winces. Flint, on the other hand, remains slumped over, unmoving, in the same spot Cynthia had thrown him. The men begin to apologize when Bertha brushes past them to stop by Cynthia’s side.

Cynthia squints. “Bertha…?”

“‘Cyrus,’ was it?” Bertha’s words spark a collective gasp throughout the cavern. Cynthia does a double-take. Cyrus, though, keep still on the ground.

Only when Bertha kneels down and utters his name again does he flinch. Within her extended hand is a clean, folded handkerchief. The one with her monogrammed initials. Cyrus just stares at her as if she’s finally snapped.

“Cyrus,” Cynthia says once she feels the panic leaking from his mask.

Bertha inches closer. Cyrus flinches again and shields his face with his stained sleeves. The older woman’s eyes are forlorn as she says, “Cyrus. You’re a vital part in our mission. We can’t continue without you. Please, time is of the essence, but your health comes first before anything.”

Cyrus is so still that he could’ve been an actual machine. Cynthia wracks her brain for a way to politely refuse Bertha’s offer before Cyrus timidly turns his head. Bertha smiles as she eases the handkerchief into his hands.

Those two words come at a very faint, indiscernible croak that can easily be mistaken for a breeze in the cavern.

“Thank you.”

An odd but welcoming warmth flushes to her ears.

And then Cyrus raises his head. “Those hieroglyphics at Celestic Town suggest that when the three Pokemon of the lake meet again… the day when the three spiritual elements of willpower, knowledge, and emotion will be united as one… _That_ is when a great energy shall be released.”

The revelation settles like a “click” in an assembly of gears. Cynthia blinks. “All three… united as one?”

Bertha glances back at the puzzle. “Well. There are three crystals. But why the connection to the _lake_ guardians? There isn’t any indication of a lake…”

“A secret lake,” Cynthia gasps. Everyone stares at her. She slams her fist into her palm. “Of course! This puzzle protects the lake where a Time Gear lies!” She prods a crystal again. “And the colors must be associated with each of the guardians! _That’s_ why it didn’t work when we tried matching the colors! We needed three _different_ colors to unite into one!”

Cynthia rests her brain for a bit. She happens to catch Cyrus’s eye… and his small nod.

“The Pokemon… are the spiritual representations of the human heart.” Cyrus’s hands tremble as he presses the handkerchief to his nose. “If we are to advance, we must seek the colors of their spirits.”

_Huh. Somehow, just_ hearing _Cyrus’s usage of the word “spirit” sends a tingle to Cynthia’s visceral organs. It’s the first time he’d refer to it without his usual skepticism._

Aaron stares at Cynthia and her partner-in-crime with wide eyes. Lucian frowns but settles on crossing his arms.

But to Bertha, it’s surprising to see how well the Champion and the former Galactic Leader work together… as if they understood each other without exchanging words.

_It’s a natural teamwork._

Cynthia rushes to the first crystal and taps it until it glimmers an iridescent blue. “Azelf’s spirit is as clear as crystal,” she breathes. “Willpower must be a pure thought for an action to follow.”

The next crystal becomes a glistening gold. “Uxie’s spirit is as endowed as all the lost treasure of the world. Knowledge is a vast and priceless vault.”

The last crystal shimmers like a pale rose. “Mesprit’s spirit is as translucent and fragile like the human heart. Emotions are volatile, yet fleeting like a flower in winter.”

“And all three elements complete the spirit in each of us,” Cynthia finishes with racing heart.

As soon as her hand leaves the crystal, the ground begins to tremble. A column of thick rock breaks from the earth, twisting and rising to the cavern roof. Cynthia rushes to Cyrus’s side and hoists him up to his feet. A beam of light shoots from the crystalline base and convenes to the middle spire.

When the dust settles down, a passageway had opened from the fourth crystal.

Lucian is the first to break the silence. “Who would’ve thought?” he mutters, peering into the gaping hole. “After all this time, _this_ is the secret of Crystal Cave.”

“The Time Gear must be close!” Bertha hovers above the entrance. “It looks like a crossing from up here.”

Aaron hurries to the petrified Flint and shakes his shoulders. “Flint! Flint! Snap out of it!” He slaps him across the face. “Let’s go!”

“What have I done?” Flint whimpers into his palms. “Oh Arceus, I didn’t mean…”

“Flint.” Cynthia’s cold and curt voice snaps him from his reverie. She juts her chin in the other direction. “We’re leaving.” Flint stares at her before he wordlessly staggers to the group, his eyes downcast.

Cynthia gently tugs on Cyrus’s clean sleeve. He shoots her a very confused frown. She ignores it and scans his face instead. “Looks like the bleeding stopped. What a relief…”

Cyrus responds by blinking a little _too_ hard.

Cynthia brushes past him, the crystals’ lights glistening off her golden hair. “We’re so close, Cyrus. The treasure’s just ahead. I can _feel_ it.” She seems to have forgotten that he was her enemy. That he was the villain in everyone’s story.

If Cynthia wasn’t engrossed at the prospect of treasure, she would’ve seen the awe in his eyes. He’s regarding her carefully but respectfully, as if Cynthia had suddenly descended from the moon with her cape billowing in the wind.

_Sometimes, he isn’t sure if he’s seeing the Hero who apprehended him or that little girl with her Gible… the same one who drove the bullies away from a long, long time ago._


	13. Guardian of the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finds the next Time Gear. Pent-up emotions escalate. Cyrus makes good on his promise. Cynthia argues with herself and comes to a horrifying possibility.

An odd tingle races down Cynthia’s spine. She turns around to see Cyrus ducking his head, as if he’d been caught trespassing upon sacred grounds.

“Watch your step, everyone,” Bertha says. “It’s getting darker.” Cynthia stops to let Cyrus take the lead. He passes her without a second glance. The group maneuvers deeper into Crystal Crossing, but Cynthia can’t help but notice that Cyrus’s pace is significantly slower than before.

The other men keep in the back. Lucian simply keeps his irritation to himself. Aaron hovers behind Bertha while stealing an occasional glance at Cyrus. Flint sways as if the life had been sucked out of him—his face is white, his fingers are trembling with shock.

Cynthia doesn’t notice this silence. She’s too busy looking forward to the prospect of treasure.

Cyrus stops. She happens to look at his face. He has his eyes squeezed shut, as if there’s something wrong with his lungs. His breathing is faint.

“Cyrus?” she whispers. His eyes snap open. He trudges to the light without acknowledging her voice.

And then Crystal Lake appears before their eyes: an area formed by crystals from the ground to the ceiling. The group slowly advance to the lake’s surface. Indeed, even the transparent water reflects an array of golden, blue, and pink crystals in a dizzying kaleidoscope.

“What’s that?” Bertha points to an unearthly green glow in the center of the lake. Cynthia gasps. There’s only one thing that can make her heart race like this.

“A Time Gear,” Lucian breathes.

Cynthia hurries to the glow with the Elite Four at her heels. She peers over the crystal railing. Yes, behind the wispy streams of icy water lies the unmistakable Time Gear. Except this time, it’s not too late. 

“We found the Time Gear!” Cynthia looks to each member, even Flint, who snaps out of his funk to acknowledge the feat. “It’s safe! Time’s flowing normally in this region!”

Aaron bounces on his heels. “I can’t believe this. W-We actually found the Time Gear! After all these dead-ends…”

The Elite Four and Champion marvel at the sight for a while longer. “So what now?” Bertha says.

“We let Looker know and set up guards around this area,” Lucian says with his arms crossed. The Time Gear’s light dances off his glasses.

“Good idea. Then we’ll....” As Bertha talks, Cynthia’s gaze drifts elsewhere. Her mirth vanishes. She’d forgotten all about Cyrus, who’s slumped against a crystal with his head down, his body poised at a precarious angle. All the color is gone from his face.

Cynthia strays from her group and approaches Cyrus carefully. He blinks and regards her with glassy eyes.

“The Time Gear.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “That’s what you came for, correct?”

Cynthia frowns. “Yes…” He’s right. So why does she feel so… _lacking?_

He jerks his chin. The movement looks like it hurt. “Go on. Go with your friends. Don’t worry… I’m not… going anywhere.” Some trace of authority sneaks into his voice, but at that point, he’s just struggling to stay awake.

“Cyrus…” _He’d lost too much blood. If his eyes close again, there’s no telling_ when _he’ll wake up._

“Cynthia?” Lucian’s cry cuts through the air like a Supersonic wave. Apprehension races down her spine. “What are you doing? Come back here!”

“Shu—”

A bright light cuts her sentence short. A Pokemon appears between Cynthia and the rest of her group.

“What is that?” Aaron yelps.

The Pokemon turns its translucent, golden eyes to the Elite Four. A peculiar jeweled crown wraps around its head, the same color as the rosy crystal from the puzzle. Cynthia notices the small, crimson gem as it catches the light.

And her skin prickles as the memory of the foggy lake flashes through her mind. _That bright light I saw before everything went black… came from the same jewel. I'm sure of it._

“That’s Mesprit,” Cyrus croaks. “The Guardian of Emotion… one of the three legends of the Sinnoh Lakes.”

Mesprit utters a soft, spine-chilling cry. It hovers over the Time Gear and regards the Elite Four suspiciously. “Pyoo?”

“We come in peace,” Bertha says in a steady voice. “We don’t mean to disturb your Time Gear, Guardian of the Lake.”

Mesprit tilts its head. “Pyoo…”

“It actually looks… curious.” Aaron stares into the Pokemon’s eyes. Mesprit hovers closer.

“I think it wants you to pet it,” Lucian says after Mesprit utters what sounds to be a laugh. Flint just stares at the Pokemon. Aaron glances around before slowly raising his hand.

“It looks friendly.” Aaron smiles. Mesprit smiles back.

But something still feels off. Cynthia backs closer to Cyrus until she can hear whatever’s left of his breath. He’s also watching this scene with tensed shoulders.

“Wait, Cyrus. Wasn’t there—”

“—a warning about touching Mesprit?” Cyrus finishes and locks eyes with the Champion. “Your friend is in danger.”

Cynthia gasps, “Wait, Aaron! Don’t touch Mesprit!”

Aaron stops cold. Fortunately, his hand is just a hair away from Mesprit’s head. He stumbles back along with the rest of the Elite Four. Mespirt growls and turns to the humans who dare to foil its plan.

But when it sees the two culprits, Mesprit freezes.

Cynthia instinctively puts a hand in front of Cyrus. His eyebrows shoot to his forehead, but she fails to notice it. “Garchomp, come out!” The land dragon appears beside Cynthia and gnashes its jaw.

Mesprit stares at Cynthia. Just… stares at her with wide, unblinking eyes. She flickers her gaze to her team cowering behind the Lake Guardian. _“Don’t do anything,”_ she tells them using air words. Bertha nods.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” Cynthia says slowly and firmly. Mesprit still doesn’t react. “We just wanted to check if the Time Gear is safe.”

Mesprit is so still it could’ve been a crystal itself. Cynthia beckons Garchomp closer until something glistens in Mesprit’s eyes. It tilts his head, as if hearing something far beyond the reach of the human ear.

Then a single, glimmering tear rolls from its eyes.

And Cynthia almost blacks out. It happens so fast that her breath is cut short and the world crumbles under her feet. Her heart is the loudest thing in the universe right now. All her deepest, darkest emotions flood from their dam: her guilt, insecurities, suspicions, her lies… Secrets meant to be buried forever. Doubts that dared to escape its confines and graze her tongue.

A steady stream of tears cascades down Mesprit’s cheeks. The Pokemon throws its head back in a soul-wrenching sob. Garchomp is shaking its Trainer’s leg as if her whole life depends on it. Cynthia scrambles to pick up her composure from the floor until her heart squeezes again. She falls to the ground. An unimaginable sorrow descends upon her spirit. Cynthia wraps her arms around her chest and weeps.

The Elite Four watch in horror as their Champion is reduced to a whimpering shell.

Mesprit unleashes another anguished cry and throws itself into her direction. Garchomp shoves its Trainer aside.

“Alakazam, Psychic!”

A sphere of energy slams into the Lake Guardian. The Pokemon screeches through angry tears and launches the first round of a Future Sight attack.

“Lucian, stop!” Bertha hisses.

“Now hit Mesprit with Shadow Ball!” Alakazam discharges a glob of dark matter from its spoons. The attack sends Mesprit flying into the water with a hard _splash_!

* * *

An eerie silence follows Mesprit’s defeat.

“Lucian!” Bertha cries, her voice bouncing off the crystal walls.

“That thing was heading towards Cynthia!” Lucian’s chest is heaving. There’s also a hint of an uneasy smirk on his lips. His Pokemon crosses its arms with a slight sneer.

“That’s overkill!” Aaron shakes his head.

When Flint finally finds his voice, he sounds like a rattled child. “Cythina…”

They rush over to Cynthia. Garchomp snaps, but the Elite Four gently nudge the Pokemon aside. “Cynthia?” Aaron shakes her shoulders until the light returns to her eyes. She takes in a strangled gasp.

“Cynthia!” Her team cries. She regards them with dazed eyes.

Bertha notices a dot of faded orange in her vision and raises her head. _Oh. Cyrus._ He’d been so quiet that they almost forgot he here in the first place. But right now, he’s not really looking at any of them. He’s slumped against the nearest crystal, his eyes showing the same unfocused glare as Cynthia’s. Like her, he’s also frozen in a state of terror… as if whatever had afflicted Cynthia also passed onto him.

“What was that?” Aaron murmurs to no one in particular. “That wasn’t a Pokemon move, right?”

“Those were actual tears,” Flint whispers, clutching his own chest tightly. “It was actually crying.”

Bertha winces. “It felt so powerful, though. But what caused Mesprit to do such a thing…?”

Lucian rubs his eyes. “Mesprit only fainted. It’ll come back eventually. We got what we came here for. Let’s go back and tell Looker.”

Cynthia’s head rolls as she attempts to stand. Her knees buckle. She would’ve fallen flat on her face if Flint hadn’t caught her in time. She manages to recall a reluctant Garchomp before her eyelids droop. Flint sucks in a shaky breath and wraps her arms around his shoulder.

“We need to leave,” Aaron mutters. _“Now.”_

Lucian turns and scowls. “Well? Hurry up, criminal!”

Cyrus quietly matches Lucian’s glare with empty eyes. It’s as if his words failed to register at all.

Now that’s Cynthia out of commission, Lucian marches up to Cyrus and into his face. “Criminal!”

Cyrus’s brows furrow. And yet, there’s still that blank look on his face. The words are registering, but the connection keeps breaking.

“Stop, pretending, Galactic crook! I know you can hear me!”

“Lucian, shut up!” It’s not Bertha who interrupts him. It’s not Cynthia, who’s still in her state of shock. No, out of everyone, it is Flint, whose face is grim. Lucian gapes at his colleague. “Look, man. Let’s… let’s not mess with him anymore.”

Lucian scoffs. “Oh, so you too? This bastard’s been manipulating Cynthia from the very beginning. Oh… I see. Are you feeling guilty from what happened? You shouldn’t. I assure you, this _freak_ deserved what was coming to him.”

Flint shoves Lucian back. Shoves him away from Cyrus. “Look, man! Okay, so maybe I _do_ feel a little bad!” He gestures at the caked blood on Cyrus’s sleeves. “But I honestly had no idea what came over me! I hate him for all he’s done, but I would never hate him enough to try to _kill_ him!”

“Are you serious, Flint?”

Flint grits his teeth. “Hell yeah, I’m serious! I’m fucking serious! He’s our best shot at getting out this place, and you fucking know it! You fucking saw what he did back there with the fucking crystals! If it weren’t for him, then we’d still be sitting on our damn fucking asses!”

Aaron watches the verbal war with his hands on his head. Their escalating shouts reverberate angrily down the now guardian-less crystal lake. Flint only cusses when he’s reached his limit, then there’s no stopping him. Lucian is being unusually aggressive. Or… it’s more like he’s finally letting off steam, now that Cynthia’s out as the middle person.

Bertha steps forward and wretches the two men apart. “Stop! Can’t you see that Cynthia is terribly injured?!”

Cyrus abruptly stirs. He attempts to blink the fog from his eyes and barely succeeds. With a sharp, stiff breath, he forces himself to straighten. “Follow me,” he says in a fading voice.

The Elite Four gawk as Cyrus takes a few awkward steps before stopping at another crystal. His hands are trembling.

Something is very, very wrong, and the four of them know it.

Lucian storms to Cyrus before Flint can interfere. “What are you waiting for?” he snaps.

And Cyrus turns, and Lucian stumbles back. Even with the haze over the former's mind, no one can mistake the hatred, the ire that blasts into Lucian’s heart like a wave of searing magma. Cynthia’s colleague flinches back as if he’d been shot.

“Leave me alone.” Cyrus's tone is colder than any blizzard. The others are more than happy to oblige.

Cynthia mutters something. Cyrus’s glare falters, and all the coldness melts from his façade. He stiffly turns away. “Focus.”

The Elite Four wordlessly trail behind as Cyrus staggers back through Crystal Crossing like a Zubat exposed to sunlight.

“Um… you can slow down,” Aaron squeaks when Cyrus comes close to slamming his face into a crystal again.

“No use running away!"

“Shut the fuck up, Lucian,” Flint hisses. “Cynthia’s in trouble. Open your fucking eyes. We need to hurry in case she does come down with something terrible!”

A dull thump hits the ground. Cyrus had fallen again, this time of his own doing—he’d simply taken a step and lost his balance. He hastily picks himself up before Bertha can interfere.

“…kagi…” Cynthia groans into Flint’s shoulder.

“Poor dear.” Bertha gently cups Cynthia’s cheek. “She’s not running a fever, yet she’s very pale. Don’t talk. Save your breath.”

Cynthia shakes her head, as if she can hear Bertha’s words. “Sorry… left you…”

“What is she talking about?” Aaron peers into her tormented face. “It’s another nightmare, isn’t it…?”

Cyrus had stopped again. His head is turned slightly, yet they can’t tell what emotion is bubbling under his mask. When he resumes walking, every step looks like it causes him physical pain. The party travels in silence until they reach the light of the open air.

* * *

The distinctive chattering of radio and guards drift in and out of Cyrus’s ears. The air smells like metal and earth. He covertly steadies himself against the cavern wall, blinking hard to rid the dancing dots from his vision.

_Maybe more blood was lost than I cared to admit._

“Woah.” The guards notice the bloodstains as they tighten his handcuffs. “You got into a fight? You? This toothpick?”

Cyrus doesn’t have the time nor energy to even care. He looks away, ignoring their snide comments. Bertha’s handkerchief had been conveniently disposed back at the Crossing. She certainly wouldn’t want something so tainted returned to her.

“Champion Cynthia’s heroic feats…” the radio crackles. “Elite Four’s decision… Biggest thunderstorm of the decade…”

Cyrus’s gaze drifts to the ambulance in the distance. Cynthia is on her feet again. The Elite Four gather around her with hushed whispers. _She’s smiling. Probably telling them that it was nothing. She’s back to normal. Good. That’s a re—_

Cyrus blinks. _Stop. N-no… If something bad were to happen to her, then the world would lose their precious Hero. And that would be a shame, because countless people look up to her. Because all her efforts would be in vain. Yes. That’s exactly what it was… a shame…_

His eyelids are growing heavier. If he gives in and allows them to close completely, then even _he_ can’t predict what will happen. The fatigue must’ve stirred up that foolish touch of sentimentality again. _Yes. That must be it. It’s impossible to even think straight._

_All right. Focus. What do I know? For one, I can forget about obtaining a Time Gear now. They’ll set up defensive measures. They'll want nothing to do with me anymore, now that they have momentum. Nevertheless, I managed to get something:_

_Information._

_First, the Time Gear was in fact in Crystal Cave… Crystal Lake, to be precise. Another area opened upon completion of a puzzle. That must mean… that the last two Time Gears must also be hidden in secret lakes, guarded by a puzzle and a respective Guardian. Mesprit protected Crystal Lake. Uxie and Azelf should be protecting the remaining Time Gears._

_Second, there was the matter concerning Mesprit, the Guardian of Emotion. But what was that back there? Tears? I don't recall there ever being such a Move… if it was actually a move at all._ That display left a deeply unsettling feeling in his chest. A despicable feeling that, if the Pokemon was to weep for a second longer, all his carefully constructed walls would come crashing down.

_On that note, what prompted this strange behavior? A defensive mechanism to protect the Time Gear? To protect the secret of Crystal Cave?_ Cyrus's stomach flips uneasily. _Or… or it had something to do with Cynthia._ _Mesprit aimed for her specifically after locking eyes. Maybe… maybe it was drawn to her from the beginning?_

Cyrus bites his tongue to keep himself awake. _It’s all conjecture._ And yet… he can’t shake this conviction that _he_ was also to blame for Mesprit’s behavior. When his eyes happened to match Mesprit’s, he felt his blood running cold. His chest heaved, his world swam, and a cold claw squeezed his **_pathetic_ **heart. Mesprit’s eyes, clear as the purest crystal, bore right through his shields, extracting all his deepest, **_ugliest_** insecurities to light. 

His vision is sliding. Shapes blur to splotches of color. Cyrus breathes through his mouth. _I'll analyze that Pokemon later. Right now, I need to conserve strength._ _The most important thing was fulfilled:_

_I know the identity of Charon’s accomplice. The same person acting as Dialga’s second minion. The same person who was at the site of Cynthia’s memory loss, presumably when the incident happened as well. The same traitor who tried, unsuccessfully, to lure her into the trap on Victory Road._

_But… what will I do with all this information?_

Something hard and cold jams into his back. As the police prods him towards the waiting car, he hears footsteps. A familiar voice calling his name. The only person that even bothers to use it.

“Cyrus.”

He turns. Cynthia stands before him, her chest heaving slightly, the color having returned to her cheeks. The lights suddenly grow harsh, almost blinding him with her radiance. Cyrus drops his gaze to the side.

“You promised,” Cynthia says softly. Her gentleness is alien to him. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

_Well… she did help me, in more ways than one. She defended me--_

_No. Defended? Don't be ridiculous. She only stepped in to get her information… I did promise her, after all. Ah, and she must've debriefed the Elite Four to keep me awake. She was the one that’s always one step ahead of me. She knew the power of her words... she knew how just how weak and pathetic my heart truly is. She knew where to target her next attack._

He expected nothing less from his heroic counterpart. _I can't very well let all your efforts go to waste now, can I…?_

Cyrus raises his head and matches the amber fuzzes that are her eyes. Cynthia doesn’t falter. _You did fight for the truth. The least I can do is honor my side of the bargain._

If his predictions are correct, she’ll dismiss him as a pathological liar. A manipulative bastard.

_Let’s hope that’s the case._

“At one point in my life, I considered you my friend.”

And he ducks into the police car without a second glance.

* * *

_What the_ hell _did that mean?_

His words still ring in her ears. His tone. The solemn look in his eyes. _Was he lying? Of course he was. He was playing with me again like a wild Farfetch’d chase…_

“That damn pathological liar,” Cynthia hisses out loud. “That manipulative bastard…”

_“But what if he’s telling the truth?”_ a familiar voice says. It belongs to a young girl of a forgotten time. _“What does he have to gain by lying to you with something so trivial?”_

“I don’t trust him,” Adult Cynthia snaps back. “I’ve never met him before our first encounter at Celestic Town! Even back then, I already knew he was a criminal!”

That little girl wrings her hands. _“You’re still unsure. Your brain refuses to believe, but your heart remains open. Still searching for the truth.”_

Adult Cynthia slams the door shut. Her monologue dissolves into a cloud of confusion. She checks to see if her face is still there before sighing into her palms.

“He’s definitely lying,” Cynthia repeats it until her brain tells her to shut up. “Why would we be friends? Me, friends with a _monster_ like him? That’s…”

_It’s all Mesprit’s fault._ That Pokemon… with its unnerving tears that sent her heart into disarray. All those conflicted thoughts came spilling out. All those doubts refuse to let her think in peace. Everything she came to believe was thrown back at her face.

_“But what does he gain from lying to you? Out of everything else he could’ve said, out of everything else that’s more pertinent to this case… why would he lie on this tidbit of your own selfish desires?”_

“Be quiet!” Cynthia barks to the little girl. “Get out of my head!”

_“Then why did you feel the need to defend him?”_ the girl’s voice never wavers, even from behind the thick padlock. _“You snapped at your friends… just for a petty criminal?”_

Cynthia clenches her fists until they start trembling. “I didn’t mean to do that. It was all in the heat of the moment! I could care less about--”

_“You can do better than that, me…”_

Her heart saw the truth in his eyes. Her brain saw his words as another deflector to confuse her even more.

_“He promised,”_ the girl continues. _“He’s not the type to break his promises.”_

“How would you know?” Adult Cynthia pounds on the imaginary door. “It’s not like you were his friend!”

Cynthia fails to notice Flint hovering under her doorway. Only when he clears his throat does she look up.

“Hey.” Flint raises a weak hand. “Cynthia. Can I sit?”

Cynthia glares at him. Her skin is bristling with the memory of what happened not long ago. “I mean,” she insists to the little girl, “who _wouldn’t_ overreact at the sight of blood?”

But out loud, she grunts a low “Sure.” Flint utters a small “Thanks,” before joining her on the bench.

“Am I interrupting something?” he says to the ground.

“No,” she snaps. Cynthia mentally slaps herself and tries again. “I’m just angry at myself,” she says softly.

Flint waits for specification. He never receives it. Then he stares into his palms for the longest time before speaking.

“I’m sorry, Cynthia.” His voice is shaking. Not at all like the spontaneous hot-head she knew. Cynthia’s eyes narrow as she searches his face. He’s sober. Surprise.

Flint rakes his fingers through his hair. “I know I was a little shit the first time it happened. I thought it was funny, y’know? I-if I could make him talk…

“But the second time, it was different. I heard a voice… It wasn’t human, Cynthia. It told me that I needed to k—I needed to take him out.” His chin trembles. “It was horrifying. I didn’t know what I was doing before you started screaming at me.”

“This voice… did it belong to…” Cynthia doesn’t need to finish her sentence. The horror in Flint’s eyes reaffirms her fears.

“I promise you that I’m not conspiring with Charon! I don’t even know that fu—that bastard!” Flint’s voice is rising. “I’m so fucking mad at myself!

"I lost my mind back there, Cynthia.”

He stares at her with wide, wet eyes. “I hurt him, Cynthia. One second more, and he would’ve… A-and if you hadn’t stopped me, I m-might’ve tried to h-h-hurt you too…”

Cynthia engulfs Flint into an embrace. Both of them are shaking. “Shut up, Flint,” she whispers. “I know you’re not that type of person. You’re not Dialga’s pawn. Someone _else_ is the traitor, not you.” She pulls him closer. He sobs.

“You’re a part of the Elite Four,” she continues gently. “You’re my friend, Flint. I love your corny jokes. You have a big heart. You don’t have a single rotten fiber in your body, despite your mental maturity being that of a ten-year old’s.”

Flint makes some sort of snorting sound through his congested throat.

Cynthia pats his back. “I know you didn’t mean it, Flint. Whatever happened, it’s not your fault. We’ll catch that traitor someday, trust me. You carried me back to safety, didn’t you? We’re a team. Teammates stick together.”

“Cynthia, you’re too fucking good for me!” Flint gently pulls away after a minute’s worth of comfort. He turns, rubs his eyes, sniffs loudly, and returns with a watery grin.

“Welcome back.” Cynthia smiles.

“Feels good as shit to be back. Damn it, Cynthia. I don’t deserve you. Honestly.” He grips her shoulders, the old passion ablaze in his puffy eyes. “I’m gonna punch myself next time this happens again. Before I hurt you, I’m going to bash my skull in.”

Cynthia laughs weakly. “Please don’t.”

They joke around until Cynthia feels the weight lift off her shoulders. Flint sits back, his head tilted to the heavens. The moon is nice and round in the starry skies.

“That guy is a genius,” Flint says out of the blue.

Cynthia shoots him a glance. Flint doesn’t notice this and continues speaking his mind.

“A _mad_ genius, maybe. Did you _see_ what he did back at the puzzle? Man, I still get chills thinking about what he said. Knowledge? Willpower? United into one? How the hell did he make that connection?

“He's smart, I give him that. Scarily smart. But I admit that I was shocked to actually hear him speak for the first time. Back when we were in school, everyone thought he was mute.”

The breath is knocked from Cynthia’s teeth. She scrambles to regain her composure. “B-back when?”

Flint searches through his memories and shrugs. “High school. He was in the same class as me and Volkner. Sat in the back of the class. No one got near him because he just _radiated_ this intense air. Even _I_ was scared of him.” Flint laughs at his recollections. “I wondered how he always got straight A’s if he never opened his mouth.”

Cynthia’s ears begin to hurt from straining. Once Flint rambles, he just keeps flapping his lips until someone tells him to shut up. She’s not going to tell him to shut up.

_Keep on talking, Flint._

And he does. “Back then, we all thought he was a legit robot. What do you call them? Cyborgs? Androids? I mean, he’s always playing with his machines or drawing blueprints into his journal. No one knew anything about him. I think we were all too afraid to even ask. Even the teachers try not to call him out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his parents show up to any conferences. We weren’t sure if he even had parents in the first place.

“That’s why you’re so amazing, Cynthia. You actually made him talk to you.” Flint looks at her. She flinches for no apparent reason. “Don’t tell Lucian I told you all this, or he’ll flip out.”

The ringing slowly dies down in her ears. “What happened to Cy—” The name catches in her throat. “What happened to him?”

Flint’s brows scrunch together. “I honestly don’t know. After high school he just… disappeared. Vanished. University, maybe? He never showed up to high school reunions. I don’t think anyone remembered him, though. Wasn’t exactly the sort to stand out. And you wonder how he managed to recruit followers into his crazy cult. Why, the only reason I remember all this is because at Crystal Crossing…”

An unthinkable seed of thought plants its roots into the darkest corner of her heart, the place where the sun never reaches. The reality that she shoved away into oblivion, the mere notion of the truth actually being…

She’d had her suspicions but quickly cast them away. They were just whims. Doubts without cold, hard evidence.

The little girl unlocks the door and sits beside her grown self. Cynthia flinches from those eyes that she knows all too well.

“Flint?” she says, interrupting his tangent on Sunyshore coconuts.

“—so I went home and found that coconut was—Oh. Yeah? Yeah, what’s up? Don’t be shy. Tell me to shut up whenever.”

Cynthia shakes her head. “If you all went to the same school… then that means you all grew up in the same place, right?”

 _Well, duh,_ Flint’s face seems to convey. But he flashes her a grin. “Um… usually, yeah. It’s kinda hard to go to school if you live on the mainland. Sunyshore’s an island by itself, after all.”


	14. The Detective's Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the truth? Everyone is hiding something from Looker, and he knows it. Especially those two.

_No. Hell will freeze over if_ that _forsaken thought was actually the truth. No way. There's no stinking way that he's…_

 _Really… this is_ Cyrus _I'm_ _talking about here! This cunning, manipulative, emotionally devoid leader of an evil cult that almost incited the Planet's Paralysis by_ daring _to steal the hallowed Time Gear! There's no way…_

 _Okay. Fine. So maybe coincidences_ do _happen. A lot of people come from Sunyshore. A lot of people are shy in class. A lot of people play with machines. V-Volkner plays with machines! That lazy bum can't even_ bother _with small talk! And Volkner came from Sunyshore! So does Flint!_

_This proves nothing!_

_Okay. So hypothetically_ , maybe _he was telling the fucking truth. Maybe he_ did _consider me friend. A one-sided, laughable relationship that never was and never will come to be. Maybe he had that crazy notion when I dragged him to Valor Lakefront and said all those… those_ things _to him. "_ All those foolish sentimentally," _as he used to put it. Maybe that creep thought I was an interesting specimen after watching me eat breakfast like a Garchomp. Maybe he found someone who shared the same interests in myths and legends as him._

 _But our time together was too short--too brief--to have actually established anything_ close _to a real friendship._

 _O-or maybe his definition of "friend" was different from every other sane person on earth. "Friend" to him meant "resource." A tool. Expendable. Yes, that makes sense. I would and will never be "friends" with some nutjob like him._ Friends _don't make each other lose their memories. I only came back because of his brain. Because of the things he hid from me, things that kept me from having a good night's sleep._

_I'm done visiting him in prison. Why the hell did I even do that in the first place? I was the one that apprehended him! He'd served his purpose!_

**_He can rot for all I care._ **

Cynthia stares at her distorted reflection in the mirror. "There's nothing between you and him," she repeats. "He's the villain. You're the hero. Lucian's right: why the _hell_ are you lending a criminal your time? He has you wrapped up in his cold, dead finger, Cynthia. You're stronger than this, woman!"

But that moment still flashed into her mind at the most inconvenient times. The way he looked at her, as though she's on a higher plane that he will never reach. He looked at her through the distance that separated them, even though they were only a few yards apart. He looked at her, surrounded by her friends and loved ones while he's held back by armed guards and cold steel.

_"At one point in my life, I considered you my friend,"_ he had said with enough conviction as though it was the truth. She had burned that phrase into her mind. She burned the solemnness of his voice, the resignation on his face as he appeared to hang onto the thinnest thread of life.

_"Cyrus rushed to exit Crystal Crossing,"_ Flint had told her that night. _"If he took his time, then even I'm_ _not sure what would happen to you, Cynthia."_

Cynthia storms to her bed and plants her face on the covers. She feels dirty. _I feel ugly._ Her head hurts. Her heart aches. On top of this saving the world business, there's this story with Cyrus as well. The latter shouldn't consume her every waking moment, but it did. The meats and cheeses were touching. And it's all her fault, for once again letting his tempting words sneak through her defenses.

Someone's knocking on the door. Cynthia picks up her mask from the floor. "Cynthia," Aaron says. "Looker's here."

"Okay." Her calm voice betrays the building panic in her heart. _Why am I so jumpy today? It's just Looker. Looker's my friend. He won't do anything bad to…_

_To…_

Cynthia bites her lips until the threat of metal surges to her tongue. Aaron notices this and asks if she's okay. "I'm a little tired," she replies.

_"But it's the middle of the day,"_ Aaron's face seems to say. But he just nods. Cynthia turns to the windows. The skies are a bruised grey. The sun hasn't been out in days due to the impending storm.

"Where's Looker?" she says.

"Waiting for us. Come on, Cynthia. Let's see what he has to say."

* * *

Looker shrugs off his damp coat and casts his umbrella to the side. "It's raining again," he sighs. "I miss the sun."

"They said that this will be the biggest thunderstorm of the decade. The flood warnings are already in effect." Bertha eyes the tell-tale weather outside.

Looker shrugs. "At least we found the Time Gear before it starts raining Persians." Then his gaze slips to Cynthia. He stiffens. She stops midway in her step. Then the Detective laughs as if nothing had happened. "Why, if it isn't my Leader-in-Command and Sinnoh's finest! How _are_ you, Champ?"

"Good." Cynthia accepts Looker's hug. Maybe he's still jet-lagged from his trip. Maybe that would explain this tension in his shoulders. He's also unusually chirpy today… almost forcibly so.

"Good!" Looker pulls away from the hug but doesn’t retract his gaze. She stares back. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. She notices the indentions in his hair that suspiciously resemble the repetitive plowing of fingers through scalp. "Okay, everyone! We have some business to discuss! Come on, team!"

No one points out Looker's strange behavior as they gather at the table. Flint drops himself into the chair besides Cynthia. Lucian sits opposite from him. Their eyes meet, and the air crackles. Cynthia has never seen so much apprehension in Flint's usually happy-go-lucky face.

Cynthia leans to the youngest member of the Elite Four. "Aaron."

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Did something happen between those two?" She watches as Lucian runs his tongue over his teeth. Flint's lip's twist into a half-snarl. Then Bertha turns, and the two men immediately busy themselves with something else.

"Oh." Aaron suddenly finds his cowlick to be the most fascinating thing in the universe. "Um… they kinda got into an argument."

Cynthia raises a brow. _Really? It must've been a pretty bad argument for Flint to hold a grudge for this long. His usual anger point would've dissipated after thirty minutes following the incident._ But the cold war between her friends shows no signs of thawing any time soon. "What could be so important for them to glare daggers at each other like that?"

Aaron's lips quiver. He stares at his knees. "Um… nothing much. Nobody important. Just… crystals and stuff."

Cynthia frowns. Looker calls for their attention.

"All right, people." Looker passes around the case files regarding the Time Gear incidents. "My report for Headquarters went off without a hunch. Everything is up-to-date, and in chronological order too, I may add. I might be looking at a promotion in the future."

The room erupts in light applause. Looker grins, but she can tell that his mind is elsewhere. "Now, imagine my surprise when you four actually located the Time Gear! In Crystal Cave, no less! Imagine if we completely disregarded that place as a dead-end…"

"Wasn't just us," Flint grumbles. Lucian flashes him a look. Flint responds by snapping his jaw loudly. Aaron scoots closer to Cynthia. Bertha clears her throat. Looker just squints.

"You're forgetting Cynthia," Lucian adds nonchalantly. He lifts his chin at Flint. The latter balls his fists, but he remains in his seat.

Looker turns slowly. "Oh. And Cynthia too. That's right." A cold feeling brews in her stomach. Looker licks his lips and holds a case file before his face, almost like a shield. "Your expedition was successful. I'd expect no less from Sinnoh's finest."

"T-Thank you." The complement rams against her chest like a bullet.

Looker unfurls his papers. "I actually got back a few days ago, but I needed time to patch up some… loose ends." Did she imagine it, or did his grey eyes flicker to her direction? "I still need your statements regarding the Pokemon that guarded the lake. Mesprit, right?"

"The Guardian of Emotion," Bertha says. "It tried to make Aaron touch it." She glances at Cynthia. "How did you know that it was a trap, Cynthia?"

Cynthia's throat is dry again. She swallows—hard. "I recalled a legend about touching Mesprit. Apparently, an ill fate befalls the victim who falls to Mesprit's tricks. It's been a while. I don't really remember…"

Aaron shivers. "Thank Arceus you told me in time, Cynthia." He flashes her a small smile. It bounces off Cynthia's heart, but she returns her own regardless.

Looker nods, his fingers absently trailing down his scalp. "I'll have to look more into that. Now, what happened to Mesprit? Is it still there?"

Everyone looks at Lucian. The man taps his glasses with more force than necessary. "It did something to Cynthia. Whatever it did, she looked like she was in pain." He turns to her. "Were you hurt at all, Cynthia?"

"No." _Not physically, anyway._

Lucian purses his lips. "Anyhow, I only knocked it out. Fear not, Mesprit will return the next time we enter Crystal Cave."

Then everyone's attention is to Cynthia. _Oh Arceus, why?_ "What exactly happened to you, Cynthia?" Bertha says gently.

Cynthia focuses on the rhythm of her fingertips touching as she talks. "I don't really know. I can't really explain it. Mesprit looked at me, and I just… fell apart." She shakes her head.

"Don't force yourself, dear." There it is again. Cynthia isn't feeling anything from Bertha's kindness. "But if it affected both of you that much, then maybe it's different for everyone, whatever that move was?"

_Wait. Both? What did she mean by "both?"_

But Bertha is busy explaining her point of view for Looker. Then Aaron quips in with his own story as a bystander. Lucian speaks without tearing his eyes from the Detective.

When it's Flint's turn, he steals a glance at Cynthia. She moves her lips. He gives a slight nod and proceeds with his tale… the clean version that everyone agreed upon.

 _None of them mentioned his name,_ Cynthia notices. Not even Looker, who approved of the mission in the first place. _Should… should I do something?_

Looker jots down the notes in his log. She thinks she saw his pen hovering on air instead. "I see. We'll proceed to securing Crystal Cave. Arceus forbid the same thing will happen like at Mystifying Forest." He lifts his eyebrow at Lucian. "Although, what you did to Mesprit was quite… extreme."

"The Pokemon will recover in no time," is the flat reply.

Looker waits a bit before nodding. "Okay… Do any of you have any leads for the next Time Gear?"

Everyone exchanges glances. "Not really," Bertha says. "But we'll double-check our locations for anything out of the ordinary. Fortunately, we've eliminated quite a lot of places. A third sweep should require less effort."

Looker nods. "Good. But I also came to let you all know that I've suspended our current investigation. The upcoming storm is predicted to be a monster. Everyone is advised to stay indoors." The heavens shake to emphasize his statement. A stale wind blows into the room, carrying the tell-tale tang of rain.

"Sounds good," Cynthia mutters.

"Good? Good." Looker checks his watch. Then he runs his hand through his hair, as if the next words will be hard to choke out. "Erm… nothing _bad_ happened at Crystal Cave, right?"

The room holds its breath. Cold fingers wrap around her body and press a chilling nail to her heart. Blood fails to reach her nose. Her neck is so stiff that one small move can snap it off her body entirely.

"W-what do you mean by _'bad?'"_ Aaron squeaks. Flint's face is white. Lucian's eyes are shielded behind his glasses. Bertha observes her colleagues' faces with an unreadable expression.

"Erm… never mind," Looker says after a tense silence. Cynthia never feels so light in her entire life. "I mean… what's done is done. The Time Gear was located and reported safe. I doubt anyone will be moving about in the monster storm, so you're all free to catch a breather. The police will also cease operations until the weather passes."

Cynthia nods vehemently to clear the blood from her ears. Maybe time away from this crazy ordeal is just what she needs right now. Time away from this madness. Time for herself to revert back to the Champion before this story even began.

Flint's hands are shaking under the table. She squeezes his arm gently. His chin quivers, but he holds it in.

Looker slowly gathers his papers. "Well… let me know if you need anything. Do stay indoors. Don't do anything stupid." She has the feeling that his sentence was a personal attack. "We can pick up this investigation later. I don't want any of you to injure yourself."

Maybe it's the way Looker keeps glancing at her. Maybe it's the way he suddenly cut this meeting short. Cynthia has this feeling that Looker wants to say more. Much more. And he couldn't do it because of some unspoken reason.

The sky rumbles. Small droplets etch into the window.

"Oh shoot." Looker glances at his watch. "I need to use the restroom. Cynthia, can you show me to the cleanest restroom? Not the public one, please."

Cynthia blinks. "Yes, of course. Follow me, Looker. There's one in the lobby." Looker waves to everyone before following her into the hallway. The Detective's boots hit the carpet like falling bombs. Cynthia steels herself as she turns the corner.

When she swivels around, Looker is glaring at her. _Wait._ _That's not a glare… it's just a very intense look._ Her heart is unnecessarily noisy again.

"C-Can I help you, Looker?" she says as casually as her rushing breaths can allow.

Looker looks over his shoulder. He beckons Cynthia further down the empty hallway. Rain pecks against the glass as the two stop at a dimly lit corner of the League.

"Looker?" Cynthia's hand curls over Garchomp's Poke ball.

The Detective grinds his teeth. His eyes dart to and fro before convening on her own. "Cynthia." His voice is low and dangerous, like a cocked gun to her back.

"Y-Yes?"

"Tell me the truth. What happened to Cyrus at Crystal Cave?"

* * *

There it is again. That slip of her mask. That shift in breath and pupil dilation. The same change that possessed the Champion whenever Cyrus's name came to the table.

"What do you mean?" Her voice is very small.

Looker raises his brow. "I think you know what I mean, Cynthia. He came back with blood all over his uniform. It was a lot of blood, Cynthia."

Cynthia is so still that she could've been a crystallized statue. Her neck creaks painfully to his gaze. "You… how…"

"A few days ago, right after I got returned to Sinnoh, I was en route to the League when I stopped at the prison. I might as well drop some documents… But I'll never forget what I saw, Cynthia. Both sleeves were _stained_ with blood. What. The hell. Happened at Crystal Cave?"

Looker can hear the air compressing in her chest. He leans forward. She jerks back. _No doubt about it: she's hiding something._

"W-We found the Time Gear," she mutters to the cave of his chin.

"I know." He presses closer. She stumbles back until she hits the wall. "I know about your encounter with Mesprit. I know you located the Time Gear. I know he helped you with the puzzle, Cynthia.

"But what the hell happened to Cyrus?"

"W-Why are you asking me? You could've brought it up at the meeting."

Looker grits his teeth. _No, there was a specific reason I hid that matter when everyone was in the room. That wasn't on purpose, Cynthia, not at all._ "So you noticed, Cynthia. See? He's still on your mind, even after that whole fiasco. It only makes sense that it is you who I tell this question to."

Cynthia might've said something. It comes out as a whimper instead. _What happened to the Champion I'd come to know during my stay in Sinnoh?_ _The proud, confident woman who feared nothing. The one with her head held high like the radiant moon itself._

_This is someone else entirely._

"I trust you, Cynthia." He lets those words sink into her skull. "You're the leader of this mission. You kept Cyrus under control. So I'm _begging_ you to tell me what the heck happened to him."

Cynthia closes her eyes. A deep exhale rocks through her body. Her muscles relax. She opens her eyes, and now Looker sees a very familiar face. "Why do you trust me in the first place, Looker?"

Now it's Looker's turn to falter. She leans forward. He jolts back. "Is it because I'm the Champion of Sinnoh? Is it because I'm the Hero that brought this dastardly villain to justice?"

"Just answer the question, Cynthia," Looker grunts. Cynthia stands before him, tall and poised. The air ripples from the strength emanating from her very being. He turns away before her penetrating gaze can graze his shields.

_These two are so eerily alike that it's horrifying._

Cynthia clicks her teeth. "He tripped. And fell. Into a crystal. It was an accident.," she states flatly, almost mechanically. Her hand hovers over her chin and drops it just as fast.

But Looker remains firm. "How the hell did someone like _Cyrus_ be so careless in the first place?"

"Accidents happen," Cynthia snaps. Looker gnashes his teeth. "He's only hu—He's not invincible."

Looker clutches his coat tighter to his body. "So he almost _bled to death_ because he happened to trip over a measly pebble and ram his face into a crystal?"

"That's exactly—" Then Cynthia stops old. A deep crack punctuates through her mask. "W-what? He… he _what?"_

"Oh. Erm, I mean, that's what _could've_ happened if it kept…" Looker clears his throat. Does it twice. "But it stopped right? The bleeding, I mean. Did it stop on its own?"

The vulnerable woman stands before him again. Cynthia stares at him with eyes that are too wide and too bright. Looker tries again, "You were all aware that he was injured, right?"

It takes a minute before Cynthia finds her voice again. "Yes." It's barely above a whisper. "Yes, we were aware."

"Did you attempt to help him?"

Even though her eyes are on Looker, he has the feeling that she's not really seeing him. Just like when Looker interrogated _that_ man _._ "Yes. Bertha gave him her handkerchief."

_Ah. Their stories are matching up._ He isn't sure how to feel about this. He should be relieved, but he's not. "I'm only asking because Cyrus is under my jurisdiction too. I'm responsible for him. There are still some questions I need him to clear up when he…"

But his words fall against deaf ears. Cynthia raises her head. "Why?"

Looker's smile slips. "Why, what?"

Cynthia's voice rises. "Why were you so surprised when I told you that we attempted to stop his bleeding?"

"O-oh." _That's her question? Out of everything else she could've asked… the Time Gear incidents, Mesprit's dubious attack… out of everything that's happened to her so far, and she opted for that question?_

"You thought I didn't give a damn. Am I right, Detective?" Her words pierce him through the heart. "You don't really care what happens to him. It'll just look bad on your record."

It's the way she delivered her proclamation. Flat. Indifferent. The cold finality as if it's indeed the truth. _His_ face flashes into Looker's mind for a second, and then it's back to Cynthia's grave expression.

"That's not true, Cynthia," Looker mutters. _That was indeed the case a long time ago. It's not… not anymore…_

Cynthia clicks her teeth. Looker exhales through his nose. She takes her gaze elsewhere, much to his relief. Those eyes were like boulders upon his back.

"Is he okay?"

Looker blinks. "What?"

Cynthia casts that blank look again. This time, though, her eyes are smoldering. She's not accepting 'no' for an answer. "Yes, I actually give a damn, Detective. Just because I'm the Champion doesn't mean that I'm different from everyone else. Just because I’m called the damn Hero of Sinnoh doesn't mean I'm some untouchable deity." She crosses her arms.

Looker drags a hand through his scalp. He glances over his shoulder. Thunder shakes the windows and plunges the room into temporary darkness.

"Yes," he lies, not meeting her eyes. "He's okay. He's fine."

The ice melts from her face. Looker gapes. She looks… relieved. _What exactly is happening? Am I left out of something? Is there something everyone is keeping from me?_

_What exactly is Cynthia's relationship to the villain she apprehended? Sometimes she acted like he was just another problem that she had no time for. And other times… well…_

_She acted as if he actually did matter to her._

Looker touches his hair again. _Why is everyone on this damn case so damned difficult to work with? The Elite Four's hiding something. Cynthia's not telling me everything. Even_ Cyrus _was telling me what I_ wanted _to know, not what I_ needed _to know!_

Cynthia's voice jars him back to earth. "We're at the restroom, Looker."

 _Oh._ Looker checks his watch again. "I-I actually don't need to go anymore. I have to leave before the weather gets worse."

Cynthia nods with a face as stormy as the heavens outside. Looker pulls up his hood, thankful that the fabric blocks his peripheral vision. "Be safe, Looker," she says. "Let me know if anything's up."

"Sure." Looker's voice doesn't reach his ears. He arrives at the giant reception doors to feel Cynthia's penetrating gaze on his spine. "Of course," he says to the door.

"Thanks, Looker."

"No problem, Miss Cha—Cynthia." And then he's outside. Looker hurries down the garden without ever glancing back. _Just how much development did I miss during those few days of absence?!_

Looker arrives at his car and just sits there, just staring at the endless rain. The latest interrogation is still fresh in his mind. The moment when he suspected that everything wasn't as clean-cut as he originally thought. The moment when Looker doubted his version of this whole story.

"Just what the hell happened at Crystal Cave?" he mutters to steering wheel. _"_ And what the hell is your relationship to Cyrus, Cynthia?"

* * *

_Three days ago, Looker knew something wasn't right when Cyrus slumped into his chair before the guards even touched him. In fact, they still stood there, their hands hovering uncertainly in the air. Looker cast a dismissive wave._

_"Prisoner," Looker began. Today the air didn't crackle with tension. The heavy atmosphere was nowhere to be felt._

_No, today the blizzard was showing signs of faltering._

_Cyrus slowly raised his head. The shadows on his face were darker and heavier._ He had really changed during my absence _, was the sudden thought._

_"Detective." The word was carried on a brittle rasp of air. His complexion matched that of the faded white walls._

_Looker gripped his fists._ What happened to—No. Don't let this criminal deter you, Handsome. Not anymore. This was a new day. This was a new you.

_Then Looker spoke, "What happened at Crystal Cave?"_

_Cyrus blinked. And blinked again like a malfunctioning robot. "Why did you come here?"_

"I'm _the one asking you a question." Looker pounded his fists onto the table. "You don’t make the rules around here, punk,_ I _do."_

_The threat bounced harmlessly off Cyrus's shields. "The Elite Four and the Champion's words hold more validity."_

_"Speak louder, prisoner!" Looker slammed his hands. Cyrus just squinted at him, even though they're right in front of each other._

_"My story isn't important." Again, Looker had to strain to hear those words… those patches of sound supported by quivering threads._ Why, even the dull clicking of the fluorescent light was louder than this!

_Looker banged his palms. The criminal didn't even start. Didn't even breathe. "The guards showed me your uniform. There was blood… there was quite a lot of blood. How do you explain that, huh?"_

_It's as if Cyrus's consciousness wasn't even in this world anymore. Looker's skin was stinging. The prisoner's brows furrowed, and he squinted again._

_"Dammit, what the_ hell _happened at Crystal Crossing, criminal?"_

 _"They found the Time Gear," was the flat response. Cyrus's eyes were straight ahead, but Looker had the distinct feeling that he wasn't_ seeing _anything. "They encountered the Guardian of the Lake. The mission was a success."_

 _"I know that," Looker growled to the unresponsive crook. "But what the_ hell _happened to you? You look like an actual corpse, and that's saying something!"_

_Cyrus frowned. "I took a wrong step," he croaked. "I hit my nose."_

_"So a simple fall led to a broken nose and a fractured chin." Looker rapped his fingers against the table. "Sure._ Of course. _A cunning criminal like you fell to the natural laws of physics. You lost two sleeves' worth of blood over a tiny pebble. Then you fell again, this time ramming your face into a crystal."_

_Cyrus nodded._

_"And you actually lost more blood than that, right? I led a team back to the Cave. We found_ pools, _criminal. We found_ trails _of blood. And they're still fresh. Were the others aware of this?"_

_Cyrus nodded again._

_"That's not all, right? The uniform was just a small part in the story. We also found Bertha's handkerchief nestled between two crystals. Would've missed it entirely if I hadn't stopped to tie my shoe," Looker spoke with deliberate harshness. "And guess what, criminal? There's blood on it too. Now—are you listening to me? Stop nodding! I know you can hear me! Look up and answer—"_

_Cyrus's head rolled forward and struck the table with a dull thud. His neck snapped up. His shoulders went rigid, and those glassy eyes sparked to life. The guards began to approach when Looker barked at them to get back._

_"Cy… Criminal?" Looker's voice wavered, the harshness from earlier dissipating into a cloud of hesitation._

_Cyrus's chest heaved as he blinked the veil from his mind. To say he succeeded was a major overstatement. He started to shake his head when his face blanched to a color even paler than these stale walls._

_"Cri…_ Cyrus?" _Looker wasn't sure if he even heard his own voice._

_Cyrus gingerly flicked his attention to Looker. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "What were you saying, Detective?"_

_Looker gaped. He then remembered to close his jaw. "U-Um… B-Bertha's handkerchief. Blood."_

_Some light of recognition flashed through those vacant eyes, but it's only a false sign of life. "Ah. Yes. The… the Elite Four Challenger did indeed offer me her handkerchief…" This was uttered slowly and with a frown, as if he was currently sifting through his distorted memories. "Yes… that did happen. Yes… If I had fallen, then they wouldn't have been able to complete the mission…"_

_Looker faltered. Then he cleared his throat to bring Cyrus's attention back to earth. Multiple times. "Was it really an accident?"_

_"Yes." The conviction was clear as day, despite his fading voice and fluttering eyelids. "It was my fault entirely, Detective. Don't…" Cyrus exhaled carefully. "This trivial matter won't stain your record. It was all an accident on my part."_

_It was the way that he's staring at Looker that made the Detective's chest squeeze uncomfortably. Those eyes pierced through even the most finely-crafted shields, extracting all those impure thoughts from their abyss._

_Looker wretched his gaze away. "Y-you're not telling me everything. Cyrus," he added in a small whisper._

_Cyrus regarded him with vacant eyes._

_Looker kept his fists on his knees to stop them from trembling. "I'll bring Cynthia."_

_A sharp inhale shattered the stillness of the air. Looker jolted. "No. You will not,_ Detective." _The cold authority crept back into Cyrus's tone. Looker bit his cheek to not crumble under the suddenly overbearing aura._

 _"You don't have a say in anything,_ prisoner," _Looker raised his head and snapped. Cyrus's expression darkened until his eyes turned completely black. The blizzard slapped Looker across the face, but the Detective persevered._

_"Do you fear her? Is that what it is? Does that explain your twisted fascination at the mere mention of her name? Does the Champion and Hero of Sinnoh invoke **terror** into your wretched hole of a heart? Well? Are you actually **scared** , you irredeemable **PSYCHOPATH**?!"_

_Cyrus had made himself very small. Looker continued to glare down at the criminal until he's pressed against the back of his chair. Right now… right now there was a glaring crack in that loathsome, frozen mask, a crack that can be seen from the moon. Right now, the man before Looker wasn't the evil leader of the delusional cult. He wasn't the depraved lunatic with ambitions of freezing time completely, just to reset everything to his "perfect" vision. This wasn't the monster that the world despised with all its heart._

_No, right now, Looker saw a boy. A sad, lonely boy that stared back at the Detective with nothing but fear in his eyes. A boy whose heart had been closed and frozen a long, long time ago._

_Cyrus jerked his head away. Looker gasped and staggered back, knocking his chair down in the process._

What… what the hell was that? _That sudden breach in his defenses, that fleeting but very real moment when that expressionless mask was stripped away._ Did I hit something? _The lights in the room grew brighter. Looker squeezed his eyes to empty the sudden ringing in his ears._

_"What do you want from me?" Cyrus whispered, his eyes hidden by his hair. He would've buried his face into his palms if it weren't for his restraints. There's a slight trembling in his shoulders, whereas before they were hunched and tensed._

_Looker had to drag the words from his throat. "You keep being difficult. I just want the truth, Cyrus."_

_The man twitched at his name. "I already told you all you needed to know, Detective Looker." The sentence was marred by patches of uneven breaths. "The Time Gear was found safe in Crystal Cave. Everyone got back safely." His voice was fading. "I have nothing to gain from withholding information that's vital to your mission."_

_A part of Looker's mind saw the truth in his words. The other part—the cold, calculating region of an INTERPOL officer, wasn't convinced. "Why did you agree to help in the first place? Why would you agree to accompany Cynthia to Crystal Cave? Why would you let your_ enemy _take the Time Gear, when_ you're _the one who's so obsessed with it? Why the hell did you let your enemy interfere with your plans, Cyrus? The very same enemy that lost her memory due to your evil deeds?!"_

_Cyrus was very, very still. His eyelids are stretched tight, as if closing them would be an irreversible mistake._

_And when he did match Looker's gaze again, there's… nothing on his face. No fire. No fury. No signs of life._ Not even a pulse. _Whatever emotion that had leaked from his mask was gone, all traces of it ever having existed wiped clean._

_"It's because I’m a psychopath." Looker flinched at the chilling finality in his monotone. "She used me. I used her back." Cyrus tilted his head. "You shouldn't be surprised anymore, Detective Looker."_

_Looker shot to his feet. He jammed his trembling hands into his pockets. Gooseflesh blossomed down his neck. "Y-you…" he hissed. Cyrus waited patiently, much to Looker's horror. "You're a monster! You manipulative bastard! You deserve to be locked away for good!"_

_Cyrus never responded as the guards rushed to tackle him down. The sociopath hit the table like a rag doll. Looker turned a blind eye. Just this once._

 _"I want nothing left to do with a freak like you!" Looker snarled, gesturing crudely to the prisoner in question as the guards hauled him away. "You can_ forget _about ever seeing the sun again!" Looker's already out the door before that freak could stir up his emotions again._

* * *

How the hell did Cynthia do it? How the hell did she get someone like Cyrus to talk, much less keep herself in check around him?

And why the hell am I so worked up in the first place?! I came in with a clear head and… Screw that asshole! Bleed to death for all I care, you rotten psychopath! A stain on my record was nothing compared to keeping a monster like you behind bars so you could never take advantage of anyone ever again!!

_And yet, as Looker drove through the melancholy sky, his heart was still restless. He'd calmed down enough to think rationally again, now that those emotions weren't clouding his judgement. And then those doubts started rolling in, suspicions and shame as prominent as the darkening clouds across the horizon._

Yes. Yes, that slip of his mask was not my imagination. _It was too real that the revelation hit him like a Sucker-Punch to the behind: that Cyrus, despite being the emotionless monster that the public portrayed him, was still human. Not human at one point, but a human all along. He's no different than Looker… they were both flawed men with very real emotions and very real insecurities._

_That was indeed fear in those eyes. And there was something else… something that grabbed at Looker's heart and twisted it into a bleeding rag._

_Looker slammed the brakes. The Sinnoh League towered in the distance, its towers breaking through the clouds like spires of light. That place was a stark contrast to the dreary prison that Looker had just fled from. Two places, whose bricks originated from the same source, yet completed to be socially and geographically separated. The comparison reminds Looker of something, but the realization remained at the tip of his tongue._

_Looker stared at the Sinnoh's League's billowing flags before dropping his gaze to the case files on the passenger seat. If Cyrus hadn't incited his emotions like that, then Looker would've had the chance to point out the possibility of foul play. A possibility that was inching closer to certainty. The sneaking suspicion of Cyrus's life being in danger grew stronger with each passing second. It's a notion rooted deeply in his seasoned instincts as an INTERPOL officer. The sweep through Crystal Cave only reaffirmed his "theory."_

_Looker wracked his brain for the next course of action. Then he sighed. He resumed his unhealthy habit. He turned the car around and floored it down the empty plains._ I'll have to talk to Cynthia later. Cynthia will know. She was in charge of the mission. She'll tell me the truth. She's the Champion—a figurehead to everyone in Sinnoh.

Cynthia was one of the few people I actually trusted in this entire ordeal.

 _The skies were bleeding as Looker passed the road he had left not a minute ago._ Cyrus… Cyrus… Just what was going on in that genius brain of yours? What are you hiding? What's the truth, Cyrus? Not the truth that everyone believed.

What's the truth that only you know?

_Looker's brain replayed those memories with terrifying clarity. The moment that Looker turned his back, and in that heartbeat of time, the very moment that he happened to catch those lifeless eyes._

_He remembered the sad, defeated smile on those silent lips. Then he knew. He knew that it was a genuine emotion. It wasn't a ploy; it was actually something that managed to wound Looker's hardened heart._

_Now he's even more confused than before, yet the conviction had never burned brighter._

_All protocol was thrown out the window as Looker pulled up to those barbed gates again. The mission reports were left in the car. Before Looker's an officer for INTERPOL, he's just another man. Just because he's part of the International Police Force didn't mean that he's not human._

_A sinking feeling of dread sits in his stomach as Looker stormed inside those stale white halls. The guards' face reaffirmed his fears, because when he saw Cyrus again, his "theory" became a theory no more._


	15. The Commanders' Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia disregards everyone's warnings and does something stupid. That was a grave error, as she later realizes after it's too late.

_"Don't do anything stupid,"_ Looker had said. _"Cynthia,"_ he might as well have added.

_"We don't want you to hurt yourself,"_ the Elite Four always said every time they smelled a crazy notion brewing in her head.

_"You're the most courageous person I know,"_ the boy from her memories had said. _"But you're too reckless. If you hurt yourself, then I… what would you mother and father say, if you didn't return home?"_

Cynthia is just a human, ruled by the rationale of her brain and the primitive instincts of her heart. While she's indeed the Champion of Sinnoh, she's still that mischievous little girl that poked her nose into places that didn't welcome her.

Thunder seizes the heavens and shatters it to a dripping mess. Pellets of rain ram against the windows. Cynthia grabs a coat and an umbrella and sneaks down her own place of residence.

The skies shriek as Cynthia's fingers touch the frozen doorknob. She happens to catch a glimpse of red in her vision. Flint stares at her with wide, white eyes. Cynthia stares back for the longest time.

But before she can explain herself, Flint puts his hands in his pockets and continues down his merry way. He's even whistling as he ambles down the corridor.

"Thanks, Flint," Cynthia whispers. He gives a thumbs-up to the air. A sleet of rain greets Cynthia when she steps outside. Togekiss emerges from its Pokeball and wonders if its owner has finally snapped.

"I'll give you all the poffins you want," she assures the Pokemon. Togekiss isn't convinced, but nevertheless allows Cynthia to board its back.

"Stay low." Cynthia's voice ripples in the heavy atmosphere. "The lightning's not here yet, but we need to be safe."

Togekiss gives its master a quizzical look and sighs. _This girl's about to do something stupid again, isn't she?_ its eyes seem to say.

* * *

Back at the Sinnoh Legue, Flint is absently counting his Poke balls when Bertha comes into his room. "Flint?" the older woman says.

"Yeah? What's wrong, Bertha?" Judging from her voice, something probably is.

"I can't find Cynthia anywhere. Have you seen her?"

Flint gently cups Infernape's Pokeball in his palms. The rain is coming down harder, almost like hail.

Then he turns. "Haven't seen her all morning."

Bertha frowns. "That girl… I hope she's not doing anything stupid again…"

Flint's gaze drifts to the storm outside his window and dabs his nose with an imaginary napkin. He has no response to that.

* * *

The prison personnel didn't expect to see Champion Cynthia barge into the halls with a muddy mess behind her. She accepts their complementary towels, which she gladly dries her hair.

"M-miss Champion?" the officer sputters. "What are you doing here? There's a storm…" _Are you crazy?!_ She might've said instead.

Cynthia wavers her hand dismissively. "I'm here to see Cyrus. Please let me see him."

The guards exchange a look. Cynthia doesn't like that look. Not one bit. "Erm… are you sure, Miss Champion?"

"Yes," she snaps. They have the same incredulous stare as Looker did, not that long ago.

Another tense silence. "Um… I don't think we can comply with your request, Champion Cynthia."

Cynthia crosses her arms. This cold feeling in her stomach is spreading again. "Oh? And why not, officer?"

The officer's eyes dart to her associates. "Um… Detective Looker gave us specific orders not to let anyone see the prisoner. He's currently on lockdown."

Cynthia's head is pounding. "Why? What… what happened to Cyrus?"

The officer bites her lips. Then she sighs. "After Looker interrogated the prisoner, we brought him back to his cell. And when we came back not even a minute after, we found him unconscious on the floor. He just… passed out. He _did_ lose a lot of blood, but I never thought he'd stopped breathing altogether…"

The officer lifts her gaze. "Detective Looker didn't tell you about this, Miss Champion?"

* * *

_"Is he okay?" Cynthia had asked._

_"Yes," Looker had replied. He's okay. He's fine."_

_Damn liar._

Cynthia slams the phone down on its carrier. Her ears are ringing from overexposure to static on the other line.

"He's not picking up?" The guards approach her, the same ones from outside Crystal Cave, a long, long time ago.

"No," Cynthia hisses through bared teeth.

"Might be the storm," his partner says. "Cable lines are down because of the rain."

Cynthia carefully unclenches her fists. She staggers to the benches and drops her weight on the seat. She buries her face into her palms.

"Do you want some water, Miss Champion?"

Cynthia growls, "How can you be so calm? He almost _died!"_

The guards exchange a look. "But he's awake now," he says with a shrug. "He's in his cell."

Cynthia shoots up to her feet so abruptly that the air rattles in her chest as if she'd gotten decompression sickness. "T-then let me see him!"

"Can't do that, Miss Champion. Looker's orders."

"I'm the damn Champion of Sinnoh!" she snaps. The guards hesitate, but they remain firm.

"We know, but Looker's orders are absolute. When he means 'no one,' he means _no one._ And besides, we're not assigned to that toothpick anymore. Looker got some new meat on the job." He flashes a smirk to his partner. "I'm honestly relieved to be relieved of that guy. Who knew that a toothpick like him could make the air crackle like that?"

Cynthia lets them gossip as she sways to the benches again. She steadies her trembling hands. That bitter taste is climbing up her throat again.

_Why the hell didn't you tell me anything, Cyrus? You could've at least let me know so we can stop! You didn't have to force yourself—_

Oh. _No, he_ did _tell you, Cynthia. Remember the tell-tale signs in the Cave? You saw his body language. You saw his face. You heard him struggling to stay awake. He'll never tell you directly, but it was all there. But you ignored it._

 _…You never_ did _care, didn't you?_

"…why's Looker getting so worked up over that toothpick? I mean, we were all surprised when he came back and demanded to see that criminal! And that look on his face! He looked like someone ran over his Croagunk…"

The guards' words warble like indistinct radio chatter. Cynthia puts her head on her knees and brings them close. Her chin and nose ache from a phantom pain while her heart weeps from a sorrow unknown.

The bleeding skies cry a mournful eulogy.

"Miss Champion?"

Cynthia doesn't raise her head. "What?"

A silence. "Well, it would be a waste of time for you to have come all the way here to get nothing. We'll make a special exception for you because you're the Champion."

_Now_ Cynthia lifts her gaze. "Because I'm the damn Champion," she repeats with deliberate harshness.

The guards glance at each other. "Y-yes. We can set you up with the other members of his cult."

Cynthia rises to her feet. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. His children and that hot chick." The guards' smirks fade immediately once Cynthia's lips bristle.

"You mean Commanders Saturn, Mars, and Jupiter?" Her voice is calm, but her snarl shows teeth.

"U-uh, yes! Them! T-those three."

Cynthia exhales deeply. _Of course. If anyone was to know anything about Cyrus, it would be those closest to him._

"Fine," she says. "Let me talk to his Commanders."

* * *

Mars stares at Cynthia with those hypnotic, doll-like eyes. Unlike Cyrus's cold countenance, _his_ eyes were the vents that belies his true intentions. With Mars, though… Cynthia truly has no idea what the former Commander is thinking. Or if she's even thinking at all.

"So we meet again," Mars says nonchalantly, as if greeting an acquaintance.

Cynthia licks her lips. "Yes…"

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Mars continues with her head tilted like a Noctowl. "I haven't seen you since your sting operation. You know… the one where you stabbed our Boss in the back? Ring any bells?"

Cynthia hands are trembling again. "M-Mars, was it?"

"Yep."

Cynthia takes a breath. "Is that really your name?"

Mars gives her a look. "Yep," she says again. "The Boss picked it for me. He said it was after the Roman God of War, defender of virtue and honor."

The case files are sitting on the table. Cynthia had given it a brief glance before agreeing to the interrogation. "O-oh. Did he now? So you had another name before this?"

Something flashes through Mars's unblinking eyes. "No."

Cynthia waits but receives no specification. The reports told of no birth certificates of a woman named "Mars." Nor was there for a "Saturn" or "Jupiter."

"So you actually met Cyrus a long time ago?" Cynthia continues casually.

Mars's lips tug, but not in a smile. "Just spit it out, Champion. What do you want from me?" Those words wedge a nail into her already racing heart. And judging from Cynthia's reaction, Mars has hit her target.

"I already told the men in blue," Mars says calmly. "I don't know much about Time Gears and all that complicated stuff. I only know as much as Boss told me when he'd read me my bedtime stories."

A strange, indescribable feeling in brewing in Cynthia's stomach. There really isn't any way to anticipate Mars's next course of action. Just like her boss, it's impossible to read her.

"Um… that's fine. I actually have another question, Mars."

"Really?" Mars's lips open into an "o" shape. "You want to know about Boss's weakness, right? Maybe how many horns he has? Ooh, maybe you want to know what kind of monster he is under that sack of skin, right, _Miss Champion?"_

 _What the hell is going on?_ Cold sweat had broken on Cynthia's back. Mars just waits. Cynthia turns and greedily gropes for air. "N-no, Mars. That's… that's…"

"That's _exactly_ what you were thinking," Mars finishes with cold finality. "You want to know if a wooden stake works against him. You want to know if his blood truly runs red. _Stop stalling and spit it out, Hero!"_ Her voice reverberates through the small room. Blood surges in Cynthia's ears. Mars's chest heaves slightly, but she settles back into her chair with a grim expression. 

"Master Cyrus isn't the monster you all say he is," she whispers softly. Cynthia flinches for no apparent reason. "He means everything to me. You think you know him, but you don't. You've never seen him as a person… but I have. Me, Saturn, and Jupiter. He's the reason we even bothered to stay in the first place."

Cynthia's lungs are screaming at her to breathe. The rush of air grates like acid down her parched throat. "What do you mean?" she croaks.

But Mars just shrugs. Her eyes are cold. "You don't even care in the first place. Just tell me your stupid question."

"N-no, I do. I really _do_ care about—"

"Stop lying to yourself," Mars hisses. Cynthia flinches again. "It's _pathetic._ It's hurting me more than it's embarrassing you! Just speak the stinking truth, Champion!"

 _"That_ is _the truth!"_ she wants to scream, but the words choke in her throat. The bitter tang washes up to her tongue. She swallows her dinner and manages to grunt, "C-Cyrus was born in Sunyshore, right? Do you happen to know if he knew someone…"

Silence. Cynthia gingerly raises her head. Mars is staring at her as if Cynthia just shot her in the face. "Haha. The joke's getting old, Champion. It's not funny. _Not funny at all."_

Cynthia bites her tongue to suppress the chill that's gnawing at her stomach. "No, I mean it! I really want to know! I—"

But Mars's expression is darkening. Twisting. Contorting. " _Fine,_ Champion. I'll tell you your _precious_ truth: he's not born on this earth. He crawled up from the deepest trench in the ocean. He was forged from fire and brimstone."

_"M-Mars… P-please…"_

"He was a science experiment gone **WRONG!"** Mar's voice is shaking now. "We're all **FREAKS OF NATURE** to you, aren't we? Just **UNDERSIRABLE CRIMINALS** to be locked away for the public good! Well, _you know what, Champion?!"_

She shouldn't have replied. She should've just clamped her mouth shut and gotten the hell away from here. But she didn't. She just stares at the trembling woman before her. _Such a small frame can't hold back the looming storm for much longer._

"I don't care if the world gets destroyed," Mars growls. "Time can stop for all I care. Stupid Time Gears can go frick themselves. All this stupid suffering and pain will just continue to exist. I'll just sit back and let you lot destroy the world you cherish so much with your own hands. Less work for us!" She throws her head back and forces a shrill, sorrowful cackle.

Cynthia shakes her head violently. There's a growing hole in her heart. "B-but… surely… you must have something precious…?"

Mars stops laughing. She glares at the Champion with jaded, unblinking eyes. "Of course I do," is the quiet answer. "But what does it matter now? It's already too late… all too late. They won't even let me speak to Saturn or Jupiter. And I couldn't even save the Boss…"

Her heart skips a beat. Cynthia gasps like a dying fish. "What... _what did you say?"_

The way Mars is looking at her sends a tide of shame into Cynthia's skull. Mars isn't mad. No, Mars just looks… _very sad._

"You went to see me, Champion." The young woman's voice is barely above a shaky whisper. "You went to see me instead because you can't access the Boss, am I right? Something really bad happened to him, didn't it?"

Cynthia wretches her head away. _Nononono._ Are those _tears_ in Mars's eyes? _Nonono. This… this can't be happening. This_ shouldn't _be happening…_

She doesn't hear the guards' announcement about time being up. She stares at her hands while they hoist Mars to her feet.

"Champion."

Cynthia stiffly raises her head to match Mars's red-rimmed eyes. The young woman's lips quiver before she speaks those horrifying words.

"It's all your fault, isn't it?"

* * *

"How many times do I have to tell you? That's all I know about the Ti—"

Saturn's face goes slack when he sees Cynthia, who drops her gaze back to her hands. Saturn offers no resistance as the guards sit him down. His back is stiff, as if he'd just seen a ghost.

"H-hello, Saturn," Cynthia squeaks.

_And he explodes._

 _"Haven't you hurt us enough?!"_ he snarls, his gums glistening in the light. Cynthia shrinks back to her seat with the instinctive reflex of shielding her face.

Then she remembers her purpose. She salvages a thread of stubbornness to steel her resolve. "I just have a couple of questions, Saturn."

"Oh yeah? What more can you possibly want to know? The best way to aim for his heart? His worst fears so you can break him like a pathetic child?"

"Saturn, listen to me!" she snaps, but he hears it as a plea. Saturn's face turns white like cold steel.

"Don't you look at me with those eyes, Champion! I know your lies! You might've tricked the Boss, but I won't make the same mistake! I told him you were bad news, but he was too far under your spell to notice!"

 _"Saturn!"_ Cynthia slams her fists on the table. He recoils. She wipes the dancing dots from her eyes and stops to catch her breath.

"What do you want from me?" Saturn growls. It could have been _his_ voice instead.

"It's about Cyrus." At that name, all the rage fades from Saturn's face. He looks at her with eyes that are too wide and too bright. He bites his lips. Cynthia does the same. "Do you happen to know anything about his past?"

She can see veins climbing up his neck. "Oh?" His voice is very tight. Barely suppressed. "I didn't know you cared for that stuff, _Champion._ You want to defile his image even more? You haven't had enough yet?"

Cynthia slams her hands again. Saturn winces. But no one talks. Cynthia just stares at him while her brain is clawing at the corners of its walls. 

Then when she finally speaks, her words come from someone else's mouth. Not from the Champion of Sinnoh's. "Just what do all of you see in Cyrus?"

Saturn's jaw slacks. His brows furrow as he attempts to locate the hidden implications behind her façade. _No, Cynthia means every word of her precious breath._

"He's my hero." Saturn holds her gaze. She doesn't look away. "Without him, I would be a nameless nobody. Another unwanted street urchin." His voice drops. "Contrary to what you all believe, he didn't brainwash me." His lips then lift to show teeth. "Oh, wait. You don't even give a damn."

_No! Not this again!_ "That's not true, Saturn!" Cynthia manages to choke out.

Saturn snorts. "Hey, what was that new nickname everyone gave you after your sting operation? You know… the one where you _pretended_ to lose your memories so you can stab our Boss in the back?"

"S-Stop it…"

"The Operation that landed you even _more_ fame? That landed you with more fans and admirers while Da—while Boss is rotting away in a hole somewhere? _Being Champion just wasn't enough for your ego, was it now?!"_ Saturn's emotions are rising as Cynthia's willpower is crumbling.

_"Saturn!"_ It sounds like a whimper instead.

But the former Galactic Commander isn't done. His eyes crackle with rage as he lifts his chin, regardless of Cynthia's towering over him. Even though he's in restraints, his entire body trembles as if the same storm is mauling its way out.

"Oh, _I_ remember. They call you a ' _Hero'_ now, right, _Champion?_ The _'Hero of Sinnoh!'_ _Ooh, look at how she took down that_ **DEPRAVED VILLAIN** _and his_ **DELUSIONAL CULT** _full of_ **BRAINWASHED LUNATICS?!**

"Well, guess what, **_traitor_** _?_ Da—Boss will always be a hero to me more than _you_ ever will be. I'll never acknowledge someone like you as a hero. And do you care to know why?"

_No. Please… stop._ But in the present, all she can do is bring her hands to her mouth.

Saturn gives a sad, spiteful smile. "Because you failed to protect him, Champion. You call yourself a 'hero' when you can't even save, much less give a damn, about someone who foolishly abandoned everything that we worked so hard for… everything that we've sacrificed… just for you. Just for an ungrateful goody-two-shoes…

"I know something bad happened to Master Cyrus. And I know will all my heart that it's **_your fault._** And I'm certain that you can care less about all that. You're in a higher plane—you're not going to taint yourself with us petty criminals."

Cynthia doesn't hear the guards through the gushing blood in her ears. Saturn still holds her trembling gaze as the guards bring him up to his feet. All his anger is no more. He glares at her with the same sad, disappointed eyes as those of his fallen comrade. Eyes that tried in vain to search for sun and failed, now only reflecting darkness.

"Are you happy now that you've won? Is victory all that it's hyped up to be? For him to cast aside his dreams just for you… just for the slim chance that… You know what? He told me that I wouldn't understand. And he's right: I didn't, and I still don't.

"Master Cyrus fell victim to his own philosophy. What he hated most, he senselessly allowed it to blind him. He fell prey to his heart, and look where _that_ led him. To his downfall. To you. To the present. Before you go back to being a hero, I want you to know that all along, _he_ was the one that wasted his time on _you._ It was never the other way around."

* * *

Jupiter appraises Cynthia with a face devoid of anything that can betray her emotions. Cynthia compacts herself into her chair, her eyes glued to the violet reflection on the linoleum table.

No one speaks. The dull humming of the fluorescent light strikes against her raw nerves like acid rain. The air is heavy as if the storm had leaked into the room.

Then Jupiter opens her mouth. "If you're done wasting my time, then you're always welcome to leave."

Cynthia forces her neck up to the surface. "N-no! Please, wait. I… I want to talk to you."

Jupiter's lips tug downwards. "What's with the sudden change of tone, Champion? Why are you so polite to a pitiful criminal like me?"

_Stop._ "Jupiter, please…" She thought she was strong enough, after surviving Cyrus's blizzard. She thought she was strong enough to handle his Commanders.

What a stupid mistake. 

"I'm not as soft as Mars, Saturn, or Cyrus." Jupiter's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "But I'll enlighten you in all this 'Time Gear' nonsense that you heroes are so obsessed with. I'll spill our plans for the millionth time. Put this on your notes: 'The villainous Team Galactic wanted to take control over the world because we're a bunch of evil, soulless machines.'"

"Jupiter, please!" The older woman frowns. Cynthia had shot to her feet again. The lights in the room are sickeningly bright. "I… I just have a question about… about Cyrus."

The way that Jupiter's lips twist into a disgusted sneer is like a slap across Cynthia's face. "How _dare_ you toss his name around after all you've done?" Jupiter hisses. "Why don't you just call him a 'freak' or 'criminal' like the rest of your friends?

"You think you're standing up for him or something? You're even more _stupid_ than I thought!"

Cynthia's palms hover above the table. She can't do it. Not in front of Jupiter. Not in front of the undisguised hatred frothing from the former Galactic Commander's eyes.

She could've asked Jupiter about Cyrus's past. About that enigmatic man's shadowy childhood. About his motives and reasoning that led him to do what he did—and what also led to his fall. She could've asked any of those questions. But she doesn't.

"What does Cyrus mean to you, Jupiter?"

A soft gasp escapes Jupiter's throat. She stares at Cynthia as if this woman was someone else instead of the untouchable Hero of Sinnoh. Cynthia's chest constricts again, but she keeps her feet planted on the ground.

Then Jupiter scoffs. It's a weak sound. "I don't know what you're planning, but I'll enlighten you because you asked so politely, _Champion,"_ this is uttered with utmost repulsion. "Cyrus gave me a place to belong. That's all. That boy gave me a reason not to completely turn my back on this pathetic world."

Cynthia can't hear her own breaths. Jupiter gives her a hard look before continuing.

"Growing up, if all you remembered was how the rain kept falling without end, how would you feel once you finally glimpsed the sun? Do you ever feel your heart sprouting wings and taking flight? Do you know what it feels like, to be truly free? That was my impression of him… He's just like his name. Just like where he's from, that city bathed in sunlight." Jupiter notices Cynthia's expression, but the former just looks to the rain-soaked windows. "The sun hasn't been out for a while." Jupiter lapses into silence. Cynthia is struggling just to contain herself. Thankfully, Jupiter doesn't hear her tell-tale heart.

Then Jupiter turns. "That's why I'll protect him, despite the world's denouncing him as a heartless villain."

Cynthia slumps back down her chair. "Now, I have a question for _you,_ Hero of Sinnoh."

That title burns like hot water to her face. Cynthia mutters something coherent. Jupiter merely regards her with flinty eyes.

_"What happened to Cyrus?"_

No explanation is needed. No specification. Cynthia knows that Jupiter knows. Cynthia knows that all his Commanders knew. Only the Champion didn't know… or didn't _care_ to know.

"He tripped," she manages to whisper. "During… during a mission to find the Next Time Gear. He hit his nose and lost some blood." _I neglected him. I didn't care if he fractured his chin or broke his nose. I didn't want anything to do with him until my own shame got the best of me. He was barely holding on to consciousness while I demanded my side of the bargain. I could've prevented everything. I could've protected him, just like_ \--what? Just like what?-- _but I didn't. And now he's lying somewhere on the cold, hard ground._

"It was an accident," says Cynthia.

Silence. The storm continues to howl outside. Thunder shakes the room. Cynthia should've just remained in her chair until the guards escorted Jupiter away once time was up. If she had just be quiet, then she wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions.

Cynthia looks up and gasps.

Jupiter's lips are frozen in a distorted "o." A shadow grips her face. Her bloodshot eyes bear straight into Cynthia's chest like a poison arrow through her heart. There's no more fury. No more hatred.

No, instead, she's disappointed. Disbelieving. Disgusted. _Horrified,_ even. Then her mouth creaks slowly and painfully so that Cynthia can hear the tendons snapping in Jupiter's neck. And when she speaks, her voice is just a mere whisper.

"Whatever the truth is, _Hero…_ don't expect me to ever forgive you."

The guards finally escort Jupiter away. Cynthia collapses on to the cheap plastic chair. The holes in her heart open to gaping wounds, the dripping blood manifesting as hot, ugly tears down her stinging cheeks.


	16. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said words didn't hurt? Cynthia sets out to find her missing memories. Meanwhile, Cyrus disregards common sense and does something stupid.

The Poke ball rolls to the ground. A pebble grazes the button, inadvertently sending out the puzzled land dragon from its capsule. Garchomp sniffs the heavy air. Rain is pelting against her rough skin, the wind a slight chill up her wings.

Then Garchomp hears sniffling. She turns. "Cynthia?" the Pokemon cries, but to her human, it sounds like a startled growl instead. Garchomp rushes to her Trainer and gently tilts her head upwards. The woman's pants are stained with mud, her fur coat withered to furry clumps, her hair a dripping mess from the rain.

Cynthia shakes her head. Her eyes are red. Much too red. Her face is scarlet, as are her ears. Dirty trails are streaking down her cheeks, and it's not from the rain. Cynthia's lips quiver when she feels Garchomp's touch.

Garchomp hesitates. _Why is Cynthia sitting on the ground during a thunderstorm?_ _Where's her umbrella?_ _Oh—it's over there._ _Why is she crying? Did something bad happen?_

Cynthia mutters something when Garchomp raises the umbrella over their heads. The woman's eyes are glassy and dark. She sobs and buries her head into Garchomp's chest. The Pokemon holds her trembling Trainer tight.

_La-dump. La-dump._ Cynthia's heart is thrashing against Garchomp's body. The Pokemon flinches. Cynthia's shoulders start to shudder again, rendering her words to an incomprehensible gibberish. Garchomp picks out something along the lines of: _"Sorry… I do care… Cyrus…"_

 _Cyrus. That man again. Speaking of which, how is he doing_? _He wasn't looking so good back at Crystal Cave. Did someone help him in time…?_

Cynthia continues to weep. _Something really, really bad happened, didn't it?_ Garchomp pats her back. "It's all right, Cynthia," the Pokemon assures her Trainer. "You're strong. You'll overcome this. We're all here for you."

_"Cyrus…"_ Cynthia whimpers. Garchomp holds her tighter. _What's wrong with Cyrus?_ Then Garchomp frowns. _Wait, did he ever tell Cynthia about her memory loss?_ Garchomp knows what had happened, but she can't speak human. _But Cyrus… that mysterious man with that enigmatic Crobat, had an inkling. When I led him to Cynthia, he knew. He knew that something was off…_

Cynthia begins to cough. Garchomp nudges her Trainer to her feet. "Let's go, Cynthia. We need to get you to someplace warm, before you contract a fever." Garchomp heaves Cynthia's arm over her own and shuffles down the muddy grass. "Where did you run off to, Cynthia?" Judging from the air, they're at the extremities of Sandgem Town and the sea. "How in the world—what in the world—were you doing in the middle of a monster storm?!"

Garchomp turns to scold her Trainer, but Cynthia just stares back with lifeless eyes.

And then a voice drifts into earshot. _"Cynthia?"_

* * *

Cynthia gasps. She scrambles for her mask, only to realize that she had lost some fragments along the way. She shields her face with her hands.

"Cynthia?"

"Don't look at me," she whimpers. Garchomp pulls her back and snaps at the intruder.

"Cynthia, it's me, Rowan. The Pokemon Professor."

Cynthia blearily looks up. Through her hazy vision, she can make out the outline of his snowy white beard. Of his permanent resting frown. "P…professor?"

Rowan's brows furrow. "Yes. Cynthia, what are you doing in the rain? You're soaking wet!"

"I… Commanders… Cyrus…" Thunder drowns her words. Garchomp squeezes her hand until the senses return to her. Rowan gives Cynthia a hard look before moving to help the Champion to her feet.

"Come with me," Rowan says, sharing his umbrella. "It's warmer at my lab. We don't want you getting sick."

Cynthia nods into her hands. Garchomp squeezes her hand again. The Pokemon's presence has never been so welcoming.

* * *

The lab is indeed warm. And bright. And dry. Rowan had given her a large lab coat as she waits for her clothes to dry.

"Thanks, Professor," Cynthia mutters as the color returns to her cheeks. She keeps her hands on the steaming cup of hot chocolate. She takes a reluctant sip and sighs. Garchomp utters a soft laugh from her side.

"Of course." Rowan leans against his desk with his arm folded. "So. What were you doing outside in the rain?"

The hot chocolate suddenly feels cold to the touch. "Uh." She almost chokes on her spit. "Stuff."

Rowan raises a brow. Cynthia flushes and returns to her piping hot drink. Thankfully, the Professor doesn't push it.

"Cynthia," he says. "I know you're not a child anymore. You're a Pokemon Trainer, not to mention the Champion of Sinnoh—" the hot chocolate scalds her tongue "—but you need to take care of yourself! You might get hurt from such a stupid, thoughtless stunt like that!"

Garchomp stares at its owner with beady eyes. Rowan raises a busy brow. Cynthia finds the cup in her hands to be the most fascinating thing in the world.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispers. Rowan stares at her.

Then he sighs. "It's all right. Just… just rest up. I'll contact the Elite Four later to let them know that you're safe."

"Thanks, Professor." The storm outside feels like worlds away while she's in the presence of warmth and company.

" _But what about him?"_ the little girl gasps. Adult Cynthia silently sets the cup down. 

Rowan is inspecting his maps. Maps of the Sinnoh region, to be precise. Certain locations are marked in pen. Upon closer inspection, she can make out the names: _Treeshroud Forest. Mystifying Forest. Crystal Cave._

"You know of the Time Gears, Professor?" Rowan turns at the shock in her voice. Her eyes widen.

"Of course," he says as if it's obvious. "I've been following the news. That's all they talk about nowadays, except for this week, when they're covering this monster storm." Rowan taps the map with his knuckles. "Why, I dismissed them as mere myths at first! Just stories in children's books! But I've also set some time to organize a little research project on the side." He scratches his beard. "I'm also curious to such a phenomenon. Who would've thought that these little cogs can alter the flow of time of the world?"

"In the region," she automatically corrects. Rowan looks at her again. She returns to her cocoa.

"Nevertheless," he says, "imagine my surprise when I heard that you and the Elite Four managed to find the third Time Gear in Crystal Cave! I never would've thought to look there!" That compliment hits her like a rock. The worst part, though, is how Rowan is beaming with pride.

_Oh, Arceus._ "We had help," she mutters.

"Of course you did. You had the Elite Four with you! There's nothing you can't do without your friends and Pokemon."

The cup is shaking. _Oh. Wait, no… that's just my hands._ Garchomp grunts softly. Cynthia flashes the Pokemon a small, grateful smile.

The room settles into a comfortable silence. Rowan had gone back to studying his maps and notes. Cynthia's eyes rake the walls of his lab until they settle on a particular spot on the chart.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Cynthia?"

"Do you know of a place called 'Foggy Forest?'" There it is again. Her heart is beginning to race.

Rowan strokes his beard. "This location, right? I've heard of it. I've been wanting to go to document the local Pokemon of the region, but it's been dangerous as of late: this recent crime wave, not to mention that the fog had become extremely thick. It's too risky to blindly dive in without a plan." He nods his head. "However, it _is_ possible that the forest is hiding something."

Cynthia absorbs his words. She drains her hot chocolate. _Wait a minute. What was it…? Something Cyrus said, a long, long time ago. Think! What did he say? Something about a forest…_

 _"You were unconscious in the forest,"_ he had said after her awakening.

 _"You were unconscious outside Foggy Forest,"_ he had said before he took her to see the beach at dusk.

The dreams of fog, of a lake bounded by mist, tickles the annals of her memory. The familiar feeling of the jewel on Mesprit's head all the way back at Crystal Lake. The puzzle pieces resurface from the darkness and snap with a soft click.

_Oh, Arceus._

"I have to go to Foggy Forest," Cynthia blurts. Rowan stares at her.

"And what brought this on?"

Cynthia sits up straight. "My… my memories. I think… I think that I was at Foggy Forest before I lost my memories."

"Wait, Cynthia. What memories? What are you talking about?"

"It's a long story." Cynthia jumps from the table and saunters up to the map. "Professor! Do you know the way to Foggy Forest? Please let me know!"

"W-wait, Cynthia. Let's just slow down and think rationally…"

Garchomp is yelping. Rowan stops. Cynthia stares down at her Pokemon. The land dragon is nodding its triangular head and pointing at the map. "What is it, Garchomp?" Something about that place had drawn its attention.

_"Yes, go to there!"_ Garchomp seems to be yelling. _"Go to Foggy Forest!"_

Rowan is still giving her that look as if she's become delirious from a nonexistent fever. Cynthia insists that she's fine. "Professor, please. This is important. I need to go to Foggy Forest."

"But—"

"Please!"

Then Rowan sighs after having enough of Cynthia's nonsensical reasoning. "Fine. But! It's too dangerous for you to go alone. I shall accompany you." He huffs. "I am also curious myself, in case we do make a discovery of a lifetime."

Cynthia grins. _Arceus, everything's fitting together so snugly that it's scary._ "Thanks, Professor!"

Rowan sighs again, but he's not putting up an argument. "Yes, but you're not going anywhere tonight. The storm is on its last leg before it finally lets up tomorrow. We'll make preparations today and leave by then."

"Yes! Thank you!" Cynthia pauses. "Professor? Can you not tell anyone about this, please?"

Rowan blinks, but he nevertheless complies with a small grunt. "Sure. If you think that's for the best."

Cynthia beams again. She bounces to Garchomp, who looks just as excited with the Professor's resignation. She embraces her friend from whom she knew as a wee Gible.

_Yes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll finally have the truth. Not what Cyrus claimed was the truth. Not what Looker and the Elite Four claimed was the truth._

_Foggy Forest, eh? No wonder the place felt so familiar…_

And yet, there's also another reason why she's so pumped up to leave. This is a convenient excuse to get away from everyone. A convenient excuse to escape this overbearing responsibility and just focus on what normal Cynthia wants. What normal Cynthia needs.

* * *

"You must be hungry. Here. We brought some soup today." They set it on the floor. The smell of canned food attracts his stomach, but Cyrus just turns away.

Silence. "You need to eat. You lost a lot of blood back there, and you were out for quite a while."

Cyrus doesn't reply.

Another silence. A shared glance. A shuffling of boots, of keys. "Detective Looker is concerned for your well-being. You haven't been eating, Cyrus." He twitches. "You won't have enough energy for tomorrow."

"Just tell me what you want already," he says. His voice doesn't reach their ears.

The guards say something about his current condition. Cyrus merely allows them to flap their lips to their hearts' content. Even the torrential storm outside his barred window is more pleasant against the ears than this nonsense. 

"We'll leave now, Cyrus," the guards say. "Remember to eat." Cyrus still doesn't turn. He envisions them glancing at each other. Two pair of eyes press against his back. A sigh. Boots squeaking against the metal floor. Keys jingling.

And then he's left alone.

Cyrus carefully sits up. He'd learned the hard way that if he rushes his body, then his brain will retaliate by shutting everything down. Again. He's still disoriented from the medicine. His head is spinning from the needles. The bandages on his arms are proof of that.

He'd committed a grave mistake by allowing his eyes to close. It would just be a second's relief from everything that's being hurled at his face. He thought he would be fine. A second passed, but when he opened his eyes again, he was in another room with blinding white lights. And Detective Looker was right over his face... as if he'd been waiting all this time. 

_"Oh, thank Arceus you're awake, Cyrus! I was worried when you suddenly collapsed…"_

_Perhaps I_ had _underestimated how precious the Detective's reputation was to him. He_ did _have an image to maintain after all… especially after the limelight of Operation **E.C.L.I.P.S.E.** _

_But still… why insist on staying at my bedside well into the night?_

_He didn't want you to squirm out of his sight._

_Why did Looker switch out the guards?_

_Because you were being uncooperative._

_Why put me on lockdown, as if my life depended on it?_

_Because he swore to lock you away for good._

Looker had attempted to ask questions while Cyrus stumbled through his haze. But the Detective's words made no sense at all. However, the man appeared agitated, judging from the grimness on his face and his repetitive hand-over-hair habit. _"Did time stop again?"_ Cyrus remembered thinking. _"Did something happen with the found Time Gears?"_

The more Cyrus questions that man's hypocritical actions, the more his head hurts. Looker wanted nothing to do with him, and yet the Detective rushed him to the hospital ward after Cyrus succumbed to his stupid weakness. And he was right there when Cyrus woke up. One minute Looker's spitting in his face, and the next second he's snapping at anyone who dared to get close to Cyrus. 

_The human heart is indeed too difficult to understand. Horrifyingly so._

The soup is still sitting there, taunting him. His mind is strong, but his heart is weak. Whatever ploy Looker was aiming for, he'd won. Cyrus's stomach heaves and threatens to cut off his brain again, and that would be another waste of time, and he can't have that.

No, not while it's the perfect opportunity to enact his plan.

The soup is indeed from a can. He recognizes this brand—he made it for himself often back then. The liquid is still hot, but he can't seem to slow down. A drop of soup splatters on the floor. He immediately dabs the stain with his finger. _Don't waste food._

Cyrus holds up the empty bowl. _Good._ He can use this. The spoon is also usable. So is the cup. The tray. _Good. None of this will be wasted._

The rain howls outside the cell. Cyrus closes his eyes and listens. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. **BOOM!** _Thunder splits down the skies. _One. Two. Three._ A blade of lightning slices through the air. He tilts his head. _Judging from the echoes of their boots, the guards are at the end of the cell block. Now, if they'll follow their route, there's one less factor to worry out._ He retraces the mental map in his head and lapses into a silence.

_Two minutes. Including Murphy's Law and any extraneous variables that might interfere with the plan…yes, there's exactly two minutes to enact this operation._

Cyrus sets his utensils to the side. He reaches into his mouth and extracts the wires from his teeth. He bends down to the sink pipe, unscrews it, and retrieves his stash of screws, nuts, and bolts that he'd manage to salvage here and there. There's plenty of crystal dust under his nails to pull this off.

His hand hovers above his bandages. _It's fine. They're a better alternative to duct tape._ He exhales sharply and removes the wrapping, wincing as his open skin reacts with the stale air. _Just don't look. Don't look. Focus._

He looks. His stomach heaves, and his vision swims. _I told you not to look, you hopeless fool! Can't you do anything right?_ Cyrus squeezes his eyes and wretches his focus back to the task at hand.

As his fingers embrace the familiar touch of cold metal, his mind settles back into its natural habitat. His heartbeat slowly calms to normal rate. _How long has it been since I've done this?_ Just thinking about it hurts his head.

As Cyrus breathes life into his contraption, his mind roams. Roams to the foggier pits of his memory. _That hot-headed Flint was still the same I see, even after all these years. He still relied on the same tasteless pranks as a provocation tactic. Him and Volkner were inseparable back then… but always nosy. Always loud and disruptive. Have they no notion of personal space? How did someone as apathetic as Volkner manage to become a Gym Leader? And Flint… that bumbling, childish idiot… how did he rise to become an Elite Four Challenger? Look at them. Look how well-off their lives are. Compared to me, a useless—_

The wires prick at his skin and draws blood. Even if it's just a small drop, the sight of the red blotch almost makes him pass out. Cyrus shuts his eyes. _Breathe. Breathe through your mouth. It's just b-blood… just a combination of red and white cells and plasma. It shouldn't… it shouldn't bother me this much…_

Cyrus wipes the stain on his sleeves and continues. The contraption is starting to take shape. As the rain splatters on the walls of his cell, a dear memory sneaks into mind. Stormy nights like these remind him of the times away from the house. He would fiddle with his gadgets while listening to stories of the wondrous, endless galaxy. Stories of how the sun and moon kept the earth in balance but were forbidden to ever meet.

 _"Why?"_ he had asked.

A solemn look. An upturned mouth. A pat on his head. _"Because that's the way things are, Cyrus."_

Cyrus's lips tug upwards. _Why, what a stupid, stupid child I was._ Once, he attempted to satiate his curiosity by foolishly sticking a fork into an electrical outlet. He was severely reprimanded and barred from playing with his machines for a month. Even after all these years, he still doesn't understand why there were tears in Grandfa—

Cyrus freezes. _No. Stop. Focus, you fool. The past is the past. Ruminate all you want—you're just wasting precious time. You can't fix anything; you can never go back to when times were much more… No. Focus on the present. Think of the future. There was never anyone waiting for me anyway._

Cyrus rubs his eyes with clean sleeves. He holds the gizmo up to the fluorescent light, marveling at its lackluster gleam. It's almost done. Freedom is no longer a fleeting dream. _What will happen then?_ Why, he'll resume his original mission, of course.

_But what about them? Those three in particular. I've heard nothing from them. No one would tell me anything, either. Are they…_

_And what about_ her? _What about Cynthia's dilemma? She doesn't know that her life is in danger—_

A cruel fist grips his heart. Cyrus gasps as his vision explodes into crimson flowers. _Stop. You're only deluding yourself. Cynthia—no—the Champion doesn't care for a monster like you. Your pathetic face is an embarrassment to her. Why are you still throwing around her name as if… as if you're on equal ground? As if she was the little girl from back then?_

_This woman is the Hero of Sinnoh, the very same who wedged that knife into your back and hauled you to justice. You, the Villain, met her, the Hero, at Celestic Town. You've never met her at Beach Cave, where she insisted on pestering you and eventually claiming her space in your wretched hole of a heart._

_No, those memories might as well have never existed. Only_ you _remember. That's the same as it not happening at all. It's invalid, therefore incorrect. She'll never acknowledge that she wasted her time with a_ **freak** _like you._

Cyrus feels like he's been punched in the stomach. As if someone had kicked him square in the back. The salty soup threatens to emerge, but he forces it down while almost dropping his gizmo. Why is he feeling so disturbed by that thought? _It's for the best that Cyn—that the Champion never remembered that sentimental foolishness. She had most likely dismissed my words as a cruel lie back at Crystal Cave, and now she wanted nothing more to do with a manipulative bastard._

"Why did I say that…?" he mutters to his pounding heart. "Her…? _Friends_ with someone like me…? Once…?"

_I really am stupid…_

He should be relieved. But he's not. His hands instinctively hover over his chest, as if everything will spill and shatter if he doesn't contain it. It's the same sickening sensation when he saw Mesprit weep, back when he still had the luxury to stand next to her.

 _It's all that Pokemon's fault. Whatever it did, it's allowing my **pathetic** heart to rule over my rationale. It's allowing all these **impure, disgusting** sentimentality to pollute my mind. _And to make matters worse, he's not doing anything to stop it. _The Guardian of Emotion… that accursed Pokemon is everything that I vowed to **destroy!** What it embodied is the sole reason for conflict, pain, strife… all these miserable faults of this world! That's why I'll never be **perfect!** I'll never be **complete!!**_

**_I'll never be good enough!!_ **

_You knew fairy tales where just stupid stories to incite needless hope into the gullible hearts of mindless children! Yes I know, but—_

_\--but you still fell for its lure! Face the consequences, criminal! Wake up and face reality! Grow up, you ugly, useless failure!!_

_Thinking you can go back to better times was what landed you into this pathetic mess in the first place! Foolishly thinking that you could relive those moments was a **WASTE OF TIME** , of everyone's time! Don't you ever learn your lesson, you **IRREDEEMABLE PSYCHOPATH?!**_

**_AT LEAST DO SOMETHING RIGHT FOR ONCE!!_ **

Only after the lights stop spinning does Cyrus notice that his hands are trembling. His shoulders are trembling. The world is trembling. It's hard to breathe. The food is rising from his stomach. He buries his face into his sleeves and keep them there for one… two… three seconds. He inhales the stale tang of the rain. He exhales the metallic taste in his throat.

_Focus. I've lost too much time. The guards will be coming._ _The storm won't wait for me. My weapon is almost done. And then I'll finally escape this festering swamp of vacuous sentimentality._

Cyrus works quietly and quickly. Then it's done: his makeshift lightning rod. He stumbles to the lights, unscrews the screen with his nails— _curse my trembling hands, I thought I fixed that problem already—_ and drapes the wires over the light bulbs. If memory serves him well, then the prison is connected by one electric grid. One good shock, and the entire system will fail.

And then he scowls. _No. Nonono._ The lighting rod isn't enough. He still lacks a conductor—a conductor powerful enough to withstand the intensity of lightning.

_Of course._ Cyrus sinks his teeth into his lips and almost draws blo—draws that nauseating taste. _Of course I'd overlook such a tiny but significant detail._ He'd gotten sloppy _\--no surprise there! After all the sacrifices I've made, after everything I'd worked so hard for, only to be ruined by a pathetic—_

_Stop. Stop and think. Your hands are trembling again. You've come so far. Yes, I have. Don't give up now. If there's a will, there's a way…_

Cyrus glares at the calluses on his hands. Thunder illuminates his cell in a blinding white light. _Wait. Of course. I have the perfect conductor all along._

Cyrus stumbles to the window. _The odds of lightning striking a human being in one lifetime is approximately 1 in 3000. The odds rise significantly with changes in elevation_.

A strange sensation grips his chest. The world beings to tilt dangerously on its side before Cyrus flings his hands out to steady himself. _What… is this…?_ Something is preventing him from carrying out his plan. The culprit was the emotional part of his brain, the same prison where he had confined that pathetic little boy. And now that child had escaped and is pulling against his hand.

_"You're hurting again!"_ the boy screams. That voice makes Cyrus stop cold. The boy's touch is dangerously warm and inviting. _"I can't take it anymore! Please stop! What will Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars say?! What will Grandfa--"_

"Stop stalling!" Cyrus kicks the boy away. _What's wrong with me? At such a critical point in my plan, and I still find a way to ruin it, just like everything I'd ever…_

_"Please listen to me! You don't have to do this!"_

_…Is this fear?_

_Perish the thought!_ Cyrus takes a sweet, painful gasp of air. _Pay attention to your goal._

_That's all you have left now._

Lightning slices the bleeding skies. The hairs on his body stand on end. Cyrus breathes through his teeth and thrusts out his hand while the other holds the lightning rod. His wrist is slender enough to slip between the bars.

_They were right: you're just another delusional lunatic that deserved to be locked away for good._ A spike of adrenaline surges down his spine and escapes as an uncanny giggle. _I am, aren't I? An irredeemable psychopath, to be exact. I should've never woken up--_

 _"Stop!"_ That boy is still yanking at his hand. _Why are you still here...? "_ _You're slipping! Don't call yourself that!"_ Cyrus slaps himself and fumbles back on the beam of sanity. The Champion often did that, and it seems to also work for him. _"But what you're about to do is wrong! There has to be another way! If this works, then you'll... then we'll..._

_"Don't you ever think of the future!?"_

"This is my future," Cyrus states calmly. The boy stares back with wide eyes, his sleeves pressed against his mouth. "And you shouldn't be here. Your future died a long time ago." Shaking his head, the man turns his back, turning to the fate that awaits him. 

_Water conducts electricity._ The rain burns like acid against his skin. _And the human body is approximately 60% water._

* * *

"Nothing to report, sir."

The Warden nods at the guards and return to surveying the computer screens. Indeed, everything was calm.

Too calm, in fact.

"I still can't believe that Looker dared to expand _his_ power over _my_ jurisdiction!" the Warden growls. "Why did he concern himself with that lunatic? That Galactic punk should've just—"

The lights flicker. The monitors blink and return to life. "Probably the thunderstorm, sir," the guards say after a pause. Before the Warden can respond, the lights begin to flicker again, this time with much more frequency.

"Wait. Do you smell something burning?" There is indeed a hissing sound coming from within the walls. The guards reluctantly open the door, and the smell of charred wires seeps into the room.

**_BOOM! BOOM!_** The lights explode in a cascade of glass, one after another, like a domino effect. The ceiling groans ominously. **_BOOM! BOOM!_** Everything is either exploding or short-circuiting or going up in flames.

"Sir!" Another guard staggers into the control room. "T-the… the Pokemon…!"

The lights finally die and plunge everything into an eternal darkness.

"GROOOOAAHHH!" The floor begins to shake.

"What the hell is that? Gyarados?!"

"GROOOOAAAAH!" A volley of guttural cries ripple through the air like an orchestral Perish Song. The entire building rumbles again, but this time, the ceiling can be heard collapsing in another part of the prison. Then everything is breaking, and everything is trembling.

"What the hell?!" The guards scramble for their flashlights. "Are we under attack? What's going on out there? Someone check to see—"

"MREOW!" A Purugly pounces on the Warden, slamming the breath out of him. He slumps to the ground. A stampede of Glameows surge into the room and overwhelms the surprised guards.

In the darkened hallways, a Toxicroak and a Skuntank spray their mist, rendering anyone that's not part of the mission unconscious, both prisoner and guard alike. Elsewhere, a herd of Bug, Dark, and Poison-type Pokemon trample over the muddy halls to free their owners. A sea of blue bowl-haircuts can be heard murmuring amidst the din of the storm.

The remaining guards try in vain to sound the alarms, but everything with an electrical component had been compromised in this sudden and vicious power outage.

Somewhere in an isolated part of the prison, a Crobat with bandages around her head looks to the broken ceiling. She turns to her comrades: a Honchkrow who gives her a solemn nod, a Weavile who gently shifts the luggage on his back. The Gyarados responsible for the ceiling's collapse watches the ocean of blue and orange spill outside the barbed fences, led by three splotches of dark blue, red, and purple. And then the serpent turns, and the four Pokemon reunite under the monster storm.

Lightning streaks across the skies. Thunder distorts the very air. Rain plummets onto the ground, now accompanied with fine bits of sharp hail. Bitter winds tear at clothes and hair, but the procession of human and Pokemon continues westward to the sea, uninterrupted. 

And from somewhere inside the decimated prison, a voice desperately reaches for assistance. "Mayday! Mayday! We've lost all power! And the criminals… the criminals have escaped!"

"I REPEAT, TEAM GALACTIC HAS ESCAPED!"


	17. The Nexus of Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus thinks he's hallucinating. It shouldn't be this hard to throw it all away... it shouldn't be, right? 

_Ever since Cynthia came into his life, the world had shined a little brighter. He'd noticed how blue the skies really were, how warm the beach waters felt when they lapped against his fingers. How everything teemed with the spirit of life, and how truly precious the concept of "happiness" really was. If possible, her mere presence gave him the clarity that he needed to give this cruel world another chance._

_Because now he wasn't alone anymore. Now he has a friend by his side._

_He told Grandfather about this peculiar phenomenon. How could this be? She wasn't a machine he could assemble with his hands--she was spontaneous, funny, and kind. Grandfather assured him—with a mischievous grin—that this feeling was perfectly normal for a boy his age._

_Cynthia's smiles were as radiant as the sun. Nothing rivaled the chiming song of her laughter. Her tears were pure and genuine like the glassy ocean surface._

_He swore to himself that he'll protect her happiness, whatever the cost might be._

_He remembered their adventures: their made-up exploration team that yielded very_ real _results. "'Team Akatsuki," after the ancient language for 'Dawn,'" she had pronounced with a cheeky grin. When he asked why she chose such a name, she took his hand and laughed._

_"Because that's the moment when the sun and moon finally meet!"_

_The discovery of the evolutionary stones excited him. Her White Moonstone and its counterpart, his Red Sunstone, both bore the same, mysterious inscription. She staunchly believed that these mere rocks were the keys to a hidden treasure in a land far beyond the seas. She spoke endlessly of legends and lore as her eyes glistened with childish glee._

_He listened. It was always fun to listen._

_And soon he realized that he'd changed. "Fun" was something he'd never thought he would feel again._

_Still, the cold, calculating part of his brain remained wary. Things have been well for him so far. Too well._ _He was too happy. Things were too peaceful._

_Sometimes the worry would eat him alive._

* * *

_"Will you still be here tomorrow?" she asked one day._

_"Yes." He had finished the metal replicas of their strange evolutionary stones. "Will you, Cynthia?"_

_He should've known that something was wrong from the look that she gave him. But then her eyes crinkled to that familiar grin he'd come to cherish, and he pushed aside the dark cloud in his mind for her radiance to light up his world once more._

_"Yeah." And that was his mistake._

_He refused to let the doubt expand, but its seed had already been sown in his heart. The next morning, he woke up early and headed to Beach Cave._

_It would be the last time that his heart ever saw the light._

_The skies were a bruised grey. The atmosphere frizzled with moisture. The usual Wingull and Krabby were nowhere to be seen. He let Zubat and Murkrow from his coat so they could get some air._

_Under normal circumstances, he would never leave the house if it rained. Rain brought with it only misery. But she said she would be here. That's all he cared about at that point in his life._

_His feet kicked at something. He looked down to see a flailing orange fish with crossed eyes._ A Magikarp, right? _Cynthia mentioned something about this when she brought her newly-caught Feebas to showcase._

_Zubat and Murkrow perched on his shoulders as he picked the fish into his arms. The Pokemon bleary glanced up to this strange little boy._

_"I think it's lost," he said to his Pokemon. They were always good listeners. "It must've washed up on the beach in this weather." He hurried to set it back into calmer waters. The Magikarp came back to life, and it swam away, but not before fixing him with a second look._

_He waited until the Magikarp vanished into the ominous horizon. "Come on, Zubat and Murkrow. She's waiting for us."_

_The Beach Cave was empty. The saline air was heavy with moisture. He wandered to the spot where they found the evolutionary stones, the very spot where they had declared their exploration team and drew the symbol of the sun and moon to claim their territory._

_He sat there and listened to the stories that Murkrow and Zubat have to tell. Eventually his mind went blank, and his eyes fluttered closed._

* * *

_He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until he couldn't breathe. The sudden fear of drowning jars him back to reality. His head was completely underwater. He'd inhaled too much fluid when he fell unconscious. He staggered to his feet—the water was already up to his knees—and pressed against his chest to hack the water from his lungs._

_Zubat and Murkrow's cries were indignant. They tugged at his ears and collar with so much force that his Pokemon were beginning to hurt him._

_The boy struggled to regain his bearings._ Oh no… they will be livid to see that I'd soiled my clothes. I can't get sick now. Hypothermia was a silent killer…

Cynthia. _He swiveled around. "Zubat! Murkrow! Did Cynthia come?"_

_Murkrow shook its head vehemently and snapped at his hand. Zubat pinched his fingers and dragged him towards the exit._

_"Okay. Okay, I'm coming." He trudged through the flooded ground in his soaked socks. And he stopped._

_The Magikarp from earlier had brushed against his leg. It appeared to have washed ashore due to the rocky tides, judging from its battered condition. He scooped it up and held it tight to his chest. The fish's beady eyes darted to his face._

_He waded through the cave and down the beach. The winds stung his cheeks. Thunder screeched across the skies, and lightning spliced through the bleeding clouds._

_The booming still rang in his ears when he returned to the house. He hid his Pokemon under his coat when the door opened. As expected, he was scolded. He was punished. He wordlessly headed to his room and did math problems until the storm died down._

_When the skies cleared, he escaped to the beach again, his heart pounding at having disobeyed their warning. He had developed a fever, but nothing was stopping him from his mission._

_First, he set the Magikarp free. He told the fish to go already. At one point he even kicked it. He yelled at it. The fish displayed no intention to leave, though. It just stayed there and stared at him until he finally surrendered and picked it back up._

_The Magikarp might have been smiling._

_He waited until dusk. He tried again the next day. And the next. His routine became so monotonous that he eventually lost count altogether. The realization from long, long ago was slowly sinking in, and he could no longer keep it in the confines of his heart._

_Time passed. People changed. He'd changed as well. Sometimes the whim would hit him, and he found himself drifting back to the empty Beach Cave. Any signs of life would make him jump, made his hardening heart lurch with hope._

_But it was all wasted effort in the end._

_She had moved on. He should've known that she was doing it out of pity. That he'd wasted her time when she could be doing great with her life. If just for a little while, he had something precious to look forward to. He had something that woke him up every morning._

_What a shame that he didn't even get a chance to say a proper farewell. He couldn't even give her a proper apology._

* * *

_The boy, now a young man, returned to Sunyshore for the sole reason of showing Grandfather his newly-attained doctoral degree. The young man had long outgrown showcasing trivial things, but the child in him wanted to see the old man smile at his achievement. He wanted to hear Grandfather laugh, wanted Grandfather to pat his head and utter those little, meaningful words._

_Grandfather's house was easy to spot, even from a distance. But just as the young man began to call out, he froze. There were people around Grandfather's house: people in suits, people with giant vans, and families whose eyes were glued to the sign in the yard. Grandfather's possessions were strewn about the ground as passing pedestrians peruse with varying degrees of interest on their faces._

_Then_ they _exited the house that belonged to Grandfather. They looked at him through stony eyes. They glanced at the diploma in his hands without a change in their impassive faces. They saw him with the same indifference, always the same disapproval. Then they brushed past him as if he was merely another stranger. Their masks lifted to smiles as they discussed property rentals and inheritance to the crowd of suits._

_All while in front of his face._

_Grandfather's fishing friend pulled the young man away before he could cause a scene. The old man noticed the trembling shoulders, the shortness of breath, the iron fist that was closing over the young man's heart. The old man embraced the latter in warm, welcoming arms._

_"I'm sorry," Grandfather's fishing friend whispered. "He… his heart had difficulties. I told him, but he didn't want to trouble you. He wanted you to finish college without any distractions. A-and, look! You got your doctoral degree! I'm so proud of you! He must also be proud… I'm sorry, son. I-I should've let you know… I'm so sorry, Cy…"_

_The young man wept. He wept until his chest hurt, until he couldn't feel his legs. He wept until his eyes bled dry, until his brain went numb. Until all the warmth escaped from his heart and dissipated into the saline beach air._

_At that moment, the flickering flame finally died. Something closed. Something shattered beyond the point of repair. Doors slammed, the keys tossed into the abyss of oblivion. The blizzard grew in his chest until it manifested into physical pain. His broken heart had surrendered to the icy lull of despair._

**It's my fault. It's always been my fault.**

Everything I considered precious, I let slip through my fingers. Why? Because of the weakness of my heart and my incomplete spirit. Because of these wretched things called emotions that spawned unnecessary attachments which only hurt in the end.

**I'm pathetic. Flawed. I couldn't save anything…**

If only there was a way to stop feeling completely, to rid this wasteful emotional baggage from myself… if there was a way to save this world from all its lies and deceit, all its sorrows and pain caused by this accursed thing called "heart…"

_He decided that he would create a new world, one free from conflict and pain. A world without emotion and spirit. A perfect, ideal utopia._

_There was nothing left for him to Sunyshore. The young man had crossed the Rubicon, cast away his past, burned that bridge, and vanished. Sometimes he would remember. Sometimes he'd falter and succumb to the nostalgic allure of sentimentality. But in the end, his cold ambitions buried it all away within the darkest recesses of his frozen heart._

* * *

_Many suns and moons rose and set before they saw each other again, this time in her hometown. By then, he had gathered his army. He was set for his dreams to become reality._

_She stopped him while he was examining the old ruins at Celestic Town. Despite the years spent sharpening his mental walls, his mask still cracked at the sight of her._

She'd grown. _He remembered watching the news about her feats as the youngest Champion in Sinnoh. He remembered coursing through newspapers and double-taking at that familiar, radiant smile._

_And then all those things he'd cast away threatened to spill to the surface._

_She was loved. She was adorned by her fans and friends. In many ways, she had left him behind. They were in completely different worlds now, just like the sun and moon, always in plain sight of each other but were forbidden to ever touch._

How did we ever see eye-to-eye in the first place?

_She jabbed an angry finger at him. Her Gible, now a fearsome Garchomp, loomed over her like a sentinel. The man locked eyes with her Pokemon, and his mask cracked again. He sent out Crobat before the land dragon could pick up on a connection._

_"I've been looking for you, Cyrus, Leader of Team Galactic!" His name rolled off her tongue like poison. That sentimentality sneaked back into his heart, but his shields were much quicker._

_To think that after all these years, they'd meet again as strangers. The lost little boy within the man struggled free and reached for his childhood friend. Cyrus didn't lift a finger to intervene. And then her_ _lips twisted into a snarl, and he realized that there was nothing but hatred in those amber eyes. Hatred for him._

Of course she hates me. _His foolish delusion had blinded him from seeing the truth, much less accepting it…_

_Cyrus immediately yanked the boy back by the collar and tossed that pathetic child away. The past dissolved into the ground, which he crushed under his heel._

Yes. She moved on. End of story. The one blinded by foolishness was me.

_So Cyrus sealed that part of himself into the abyss for good. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he saw the present. He saw this woman for who she really was: a threat to Team Galactic's goal, a threat that must be eliminated at all costs, for the sake of a new world._

**She is my enemy.**

_And Cyrus regarded her without a shred of familiarity in his frozen mask. "Can you stop me, Champion Cynthia?" he said, his eyes hard and cold._

* * *

There's a light in front of him. A bright, searing light. All is dark, except for this uncanny glow that hovers before his eyes. It emits a familiar warmth, like the heat from a motor… like that time when he happened to seek refuge in that dilapidated mansion in the forest from decades ago…

_Is this the afterlife?_

The world slowly slides back into focus. Black. All is black. The ball of light doesn't belong in this eternal darkness. Then it begins to move. It begins to growl.

"Wake up," it seems to say.

Cyrus gasps—and instantly chokes on his own blood. He jerks to the side, and the world flashes to white again. Everything's spinning. Everything's shaking. His throat is ravaged by ruptured cells; his lungs are thick with fluid.

And somewhere in the air is the smell of burnt flesh.

The light bobs angrily. Cyrus forces his eyes away. He can't feel his hands nor his legs. A suffocating paralysis grips his body like… _like that time…. when… when Crobat was…_

Then memory returns like a bullet to the head. An invisible hand rips at his stitches. _Operation **E.C.L.I.P.S.E.** The Champion. Crystal Cave. Detective Looker. Lightning._

 _Oh, did it work?_ The last thing he remembered was a fire engulfing his entire body and… and the shock at seeing Grandfather's belongings displayed on the streets… like trash.

The blob of light dangles in front of his face. Cyrus squints to rid the after-image created by his vibrating eyeballs. _What is that? Ball lightning? An apparition? A Pokemon? A figment of my delirious mind?_

"Zzzrt, bzzrt." _Yes, that ball of light is indeed attempting to communicate!_ A Pokemon it must be… with its strange frequency of a cry. _"_ Bzzzrt!"The light gravitates to his nose, but it doesn't shock him. He doesn't sense malice. _Curiosity?_ _No… it's the strangest feeling of nostalgia…_

_I really am going crazy._

"Bzzt!" Cyrus glimpses a pair of eyes. _Blue? Orange?_ The colors are blurring together. The light makes a displeased sound and illuminates the opened cell door. He stares at it. It jolts impatiently.

Cyrus musters all his willpower to stand, only for the world to slip under his feet. He crumbles to the floor, wheezing and shaking violently. The air scalds his throat and lungs. The blood surges to his nose and mouth.

"Bzzt!" But he's also hearing something else. Words. Intelligent words along the lines of, "Follow me--zzt! Cyrus--zzt!"

Cyrus blinks. Then he laughs as blood spills from his mouth. _Oh Arceus. I really_ did _go insane! The lightning must've—_

"Cyrus!" There's an urgency in that voice that snaps him back to earth. Cyrus forces air into his lungs and pushes himself up to his knees. The vertigo eventually overpowers him. He slumps to the walls with his sleeves pressed against his nose.

"Cyrus—zzt! Follow me! We need to hurry—zzt!"

"Okay. Okay, Grandfather." He waits until his eyeballs stop vibrating. His gnarled voice grates against ruptured eardrums. The light seems to measure him evenly before floating out to the darkened hallways. He's barely hanging onto consciousness, but he's trying.

_Oh Arceus am I trying._

"Cyrus—zzt!" The light cries when he slams his face into the wall. His hairs stand on end as the glow approaches, but it never intrudes too closely. Its arguable eyes rake over his face once more with an expression that squeezes his already exhausted chest.

"I'm fine, Grandfather," Cyrus mumbles back. _Oh. There's so much blood on the walls._ He happens to look down on his crimson-stained hands. His uniform is once again marred by the odious color.

And the laughter erupts from his stomach. It forces the blood aside and surges up his throat. Cyrus's shoulders shake as guttural, terrifying giggles echo down the halls.

_**Everything's burning.**_

**_I'm hallucinating._ **

**_It hurts so much._ **

**_No one's here._ **

**_No one cares._ **

_NoThi_ ng **_m_** _attTers any_ m ** _or_** _eEE **ee**_

**"Cyrus!"**

"I'm sorry, Grandfather. Y-you shouldn't have come back. I'm a criminal now. I-I'm losing it. Everyone hates me. I-I-I'm a m-monster…"

"Cyrus—zzt!" Something bashes against his cheek. Cyrus blinks. The light had gained an arm— _wait._ A radio. The ball of light had absorbed a radio for an arm and had slapped him across the face with said equipment.

It was a very real pain from a very real object.

"G…Grandfather..?"

"Cyrus, boy! Pay—zzt—attention! Let's go—zzt! Your Pokemon are waiting for you—zzt!" Cyrus stares at the agitated ball of light. He would've also slapped himself if his hands didn't hurt so much. The ball bobs angrily. He can almost make out an impatient scowl through his hazy vision.

"Okay. Okay, Grandfather. You're right. I'm wasting time." The light extends its radio-arm. Cyrus stares at it. He gingerly raises his hand to the cold metal. The light could've been smiling as it leads him down the dark and quiet corridors.

The strangest memory of Grandfather leading his grandson by the hand flashes into mind and quickly disappears as soon as it came.

 _Where are the guards? Why is there no one here?_ Cyrus almost falls again if not the for the light's firm grasp. He staggers blindly around the darkness until they finally stop. The light passes through the steel door and opens it from the inside.

Cyrus shuffles into the small closet filled with confiscated evidence. The ball of light illuminates the room with its glow. He sees boxes. Red and white things in the boxes. Without any reason or rhyme, Cyrus lunges for the nearest Poke ball and presses it.

Weavile appears in a flash of red. It stops cold once it sees its Trainer, wide-eyed and covered with blood. And then without consulting his brain, Cyrus drops to his knees and holds the Pokemon tight. _What if Weavile hits me? What if Weaville attacks me? I too would slap the lunatic who dared to—_

And then Weavile squeezes back. The Pokemon utters a soft cry that sounds suspiciously like his name. Cyrus buries his dirty face into the cat's clean, groomed fur.

Cyrus holds the Pokemon's gaze. "Weavile. I need your help."

Weavile understands. It springs to its feet and begins tapping at Poke balls. The room erupts into flashes and cries as the Pokemon all emerge from their captivity.

"Find your owners," Cyrus says. They understand. The Pokemon rush from the room. He turns back and resumes his duty, Weavile faithfully at his side.

Honchkrow springs from its Pokeball. The crow yelps and latches onto Cyrus's shoulder. He buries his face into its spotless down. It wraps its strong, majestic wings around his head, the tips of its feathers gently stroking his stitches. Weavile chuckles from somewhere in the darkness. The light ball whirls with what sounds like a soft laugh.

More Pokemon appear. Cyrus sees the familiar Purugly. The Toxicroak. The Skuntank. All three aces nuzzle his legs. He pats their heads and utters a sharp command. They nod and hurry into the recesses of the prison with a legion of underlings at their tails.

Then Cyrus recognizes that rhythmic flapping of wings anywhere. Those piercing eyes. That warm, familiar presence.

Crobat peers at its Trainer with bright, watery eyes. It launches itself into his waiting arms. His trembling fingers hover above the bandages around its head, and Crobat snuggles into his shaky embrace.

 _Oh…_ Cyrus utters a faint sigh. _Good. The bullet had been extracted. Crobat… Crobat is alive…_

Cyrus and his Pokemon continue releasing the evidence until there's only a handful of Poke balls labeled with "Galactic" left. His hand curls over a Poke ball. Gyarados rises from its capsule and shatters the ceiling. It rears its head with a powerful roar that parts the heavy rain. The sea serpent then lowers itself to its Trainer with a tender grunt. Cyrus lays a trembling hand on its snout.

Gyarados might've chuckled.

"We're almost done," Cyrus tells his Pokemon. "Thank you, everyone." _Ah. They're… they're smiling. Yes, they're actually… It's actually possible for Pokemon to… to…_

Cyrus grips his chest. The ball of light whirls around his head. "G…Gyarados. Use… use Dragon Rage."

Gyarados understands. The sea serpent rises through the hole in the ceiling. Cyrus feels its weight thrashing against the prison walls as it brings ruin to everything in sight. Rain then floods the steel, sterile hallways. Blustery winds rush in and slap his face. In the dark and brooding storm, the moon is nowhere to be seen.

"GRRROOOAAHH!" The pulse of light erupts from Gyarados's mouth. The beam descends and ascends, tracing the shape of a familiar letter into the skies.

Cyrus's knees buckle. Fortunately, Weavile catches him in time before he can break his nose again. His chest is heaving. It's incredibly difficult just to breathe. The world is spinning again. His legs feel like lead.

"Let's go," he says. The Pokemon all nod. Weavile gently drapes its Trainer over its shoulders while Crobat and Honchkrow keep a vigilant watch. The once-silent prison is now a cacophony of sound—of yelling, crying, and of things exploding. He can feel the sea breeze against his face.

"Excuse me." The ball of light jolts. It spins closer to his face. Cyrus exhales. "You… you're not Grandfather, are you?"

The ball of light moves in a horizontal pattern. _No. Of course not._ Its face fuzzes into view again—two oval eyes and a small mouth.

Cyrus frowns. "Then… may I ask what you are?"

The light pauses. Then it whirls around his head. Once. Twice, before raising the radio-arm to graze his cheek and speaking.

"I'm your friend, Cyrus."

Cyrus blinks. His Pokemon are watching him carefully. The ball of light continues to stare at him with sparkling eyes.

Then Cyrus smiles. It's a smile that hurts him from the inside. He shakes his head and drops his gaze. _The universe must hate me as much as everyone else does, for it to play such a cruel, tasteless joke such as this…_

Crobat nudges his face. Cyrus snaps from his stupor. Honchkrow shields his head with its magnificent wing. The storm had picked up. The rain is forming foamy bubbles on the ground besides his feet. Cyrus maneuvers across the slippery ledge with utmost caution, and he only has his Pokemon to thank. Gyarados awaits its team at the craggy coat near the sea.

Everyone is waiting for him. As Cyrus approaches, the sea of orange breaks into gasps.

"Master Cyrus!"

* * *

At the sound of his Commanders' voices, Cyrus starts forward. There's no explanation as to why he's suddenly drawn to their presence, but it feels as if the magnet in his chest had suddenly awoken in response to the mere sight of them.

Weavile catches him before he can eat ground again.

"Master Cyrus!" The Grunts are also here. Cyrus squints. The rain is disorienting enough, but his mind is far too fuzzier than he'd liked it to be. He can't see details. He can only see faded colors and their arguable edges.

"Cyrus!" Jupiter. _Oh, she's safe. That must mean Mars and Saturn are also here. But why does she sound so… distraught?_

"Boss!" Saturn cries. Cyrus winces. "Boss, what happened to you? What did you do to yourself?!"

"Boss!" Mars yells. _From the timbre in her voice, she too is greatly perturbed by something._ "Boss, you're bleeding everywhere!!"

Cyrus wipes the blood from his eyes. _Of course I'm bleeding. It's clear as day. But why do they all sound so surprised? Is it due to the grisly sight of blood?_

Honchkrow nips his ear before his brain can shut down again. Cyrus forces air into his ravaged lungs. Weavile senses his silent plea and helps its master assume his posture as the Leader of Team Galactic.

"Is everyone here?" Cyrus says. The thunder drowns out his voice. The Grunts are whispering. He has a splitting headache that's increasing in intensity with each passing second.

"Everyone, shut up!" Saturn snaps. Blood roars in Cyrus's skull. Something warm trickles down his ears, but he forces himself to capitalize this moment of undivided attention.

"I see everyone had managed to escape. You saw the signal." Cyrus bites his tongue when his spine erupts into fire. He covertly slumps against Gyarados's body. Weavile supports his legs. Crobat and Honchkrow perch on his shoulders to keep him upright. Cyrus grits his teeth and straightens. He makes himself tall, his feet planted evenly apart, his trembling hands linked behind his back.

Lightning shrieks through the heavens. The ball of light watches silently as he recomposes himself.

Then Cyrus begins, "Fellow members of Team Galactic, can you all hear me? I'm sure all of you know who I am by now. I'm sure you all knew of our goal… our goal of changing this crude, incomplete world. A goal you have all embraced and heeded with utmost loyalty…

"As you know, this world of ours is incomplete. It is incomplete because we too, are lacking and imperfect. We banded together to remedy that conundrum… to complete this ugly world, to eradicate conflict, strife, and pain… Together, we have poured over myths and exposed their secrets. Together, we have located and obtained the mythical Time Gear. As a team, we've discovered a way to harness its mystical energy to proceed our goal…

"And now, you all stand before me today… in our final gathering as Team Galactic."

A collective murmur rips through the crowd. Heads turn, bodies shift. His words have rendered the storm insignificant to their ears.

"B-boss?" Mars yelps. The red splotch that is her head shakes violently. "What are you… what are you saying…?"

Cyrus exhales into his sleeve. To them, he's getting impatient. To him, he's ridding the excessive blood from his mouth.

"Excellent observation, Mars." She gasps. The rain stings his eyes. "You were always the bravest of my Commanders. Your courage made our team resilient and strong."

"Master Cyrus!" Saturn cries. "You… you're not thinking of… No, this can't be happening!!"

Cyrus squints at the agitated spot of blue. "Very observant, Saturn. You were always the most rational member of the group. You possess the clarity to turn your thoughts into action that have contributed to many of our successes."

Jupiter shoves through the gaping grunts and storms into his face. His Pokemon quickly form a partition between them. "Cyrus!" Her voice pierces through his sluggish heartbeat. "This is not funny! You're delirious! You're heavily injured, plus you look like _death!"_

Jupiter's face is blurry, but her words cut sharp like a knife. "Jupiter," he states her name clearly and firmly. "You were always the wisest of my right hand. You're able to translate what I leave unspoken to the rest of the team. If not for you, then we wouldn't have been able to foster such a welcoming environment for everyone to thrive and grow."

His Commanders freeze. He feels their eyes on his skull. He feels the eyes of all the Grunts into his back. And he can't face them, for some absurd reason.

Cyrus's heart lurches. He staggers back into the solid mass that is his Gyarados with his hands over his chest. Everyone starts forward, but he manages to still them with a glare. _Why is it… hurting…? I've prepared well in advance for this crucial moment, practicing and perfecting my words… A-And yet, things are not going as planned. I can't… I don't…_

_Why am I hesitating…?_

And he almost succumbs to the growing darkness if not for his stubbornness. _Stop. Focus. I have to be strong. I at least owe it to everyone to maintain my dignity… They have to hear it from the Leader of Team Galactic for the final time._

Cyrus reaches for the air of authority in the foggy pathways of his mind. He channels the cold, overbearing aura of the former Boss of Team Galactic, his shoulders relaxing as he feels the power surging up his spine. He straightens. He opens his eyes, and he speaks.

"Team Galactic is disbanded. I thank you for your time. Do as you wish, and let there be glory for whatever your future may hold."

Not a word can be heard from the once restless crowd. Even the thunder has halted its fury. The blood rushes to his tongue. An icy hammer rams against his chest.

When he opens his eyes again, the Commanders are still there. Even all the grunts are accounted for.

_What… No! No, no! This doesn't make any sense! You were all supposed to leave! Why are you still here?! This wasn't… this wasn't in my plans…_

All the reason in the world shatters into a million shards at his feet. His heart lurches again and almost takes his sight along with it.

"NO!" Mars. Mars is screaming. "Stop joking around, Da--Boss! THIS IS NOT FUNNY! You can't… you can't do this! After all these years… after everything we've been through… YOU CAN'T TOSS IT ALL AWAY LIKE THIS!"

Cyrus regards his youngest Commander with cold eyes. "I keep telling you, and you never listen, _Mars._ I never agreed to any emotional attachment in our relationship. You're in denial because you allowed your selfish heart to cloud your judgement. This is reality. Wake up."

_Leave. Please…_

"NO!" Saturn. Saturn's voice is cracking. Cyrus feels something break within himself as well. "No, NO, NO! You've been there for me since forever! Mars and I grew up before your eyes, Da—Master Cyrus! This is the only family I've ever known! Please don't… PLEASE DON'T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!"

"Saturn!" Cyrus snaps. "Hold your tongue! Can't you see that you've allowed yourself to blindly follow the self-destructive heeds of your heart? It's the _ridiculous_ sentimentality that's forcing these words into your mouth! What are you trying to accomplish by holding onto such… such _revolting_ emotions?!"

_Please… please leave. I don't deserve any of you…_

"CYRUS!" The wound in his heart rips open at her cry. "YOU'RE the one that needs to wake up! Don't you see? You've made a significant impact in their lives! In _our_ lives!" The sound of hand against chest. "You gave me something to fight for! Something to believe in! Without Team Galactic, I would be nothing! Without you, I'd still be chasing after the bastard who threw me away like some piece of trash!"

His vision is fading. Cyrus gasps, and the acidic air never felt so sweet. Crobat and Honchkrow pull him up before anyone can see his glaring weakness.

"That's where you're wrong, Jupiter," he states calmly and flatly. "You hold me up to that standard because of your own lacking heart. In the end, I've only used all of you as stepping stones to my goal. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I had no intention of ever reciprocating your feelings towards me."

_Please just leave! Why are all of you still here?! I can't do anything for you anymore! I've taken everything from you, yet you're still looking at me as if I'm…_

_As if I'm your Hero…_

Thunder claps like a brazen drum. He swallows the vomit back down his throat. _This is it. My Commanders' judgement. My team's judgment._

"So everything was a lie?" Though Saturn's voice is small, it cuts across the crackling air like a bullet aimed for his neck.

"Yes," Cyrus says with cold finality. "I lied. You shouldn't be surprised by now. And you know what else is a big lie? This: I can care less about the likes of Team Galactic in my new world. I seek to build the perfect world for myself… if not, then it could never the complete and ideal world, now will it?" He throws his head forward and snickers.

"And now I no longer have any need for you. For all of you." He turns away. Honchkrow stills his trembling shoulders. "Go. As my last act of gratitude for wasting your time, I have assembled a team of Gyarados to take you back. You each had a life before this madness, yes? Go on. Go home."

Silence. The rain hits the ground like bombs. Cyrus hacks a wad of blood onto his sleeves, now stained dark red with rain.

Or it could've been red. It could've been any color by now.

And then a lone voice breaks through the din of white noise. "How dare you toy with our emotions like that!" Mars screeches.

"I can't believe that's your true face," Saturn snarls. "You've been manipulating with our emotions from the very start?! To think that I ever saw you as…"

"After all this time…" Jupiter launches a sharp finger to his throat. "You're just another two-faced liar. You… you…"

Cyrus turns. "You manipulative bastard?" he finishes with a smile. Their words die in their throats. "You heartless robot? You emotionless freak? I understand. Don't waste your breath."

He grips his chest. The remnants of his team—of his years of blood, sweat, and tears glare back at him like the monster that he was. Even the Commanders keep their distance. "This is where we part ways, then. Don't look for me… Thank you for everything, and farewell."

_Please stop me._

No one stops him. Cyrus grits his teeth as he stumbles down the drenched craggy ledge. Even his Pokemon are eerily quiet as they tug him along. The ball of light hovers at his right side, occasionally sending him silent glances.

The next time he regains consciousness, Weavile's distraught face is hovering over him. All his Pokemon are looking down on him. _Oh. The rain's gotten heavier. The downpour is bleeding into their eyes. That's why they're cr--_

 _What… stop. Stop looking at me like that._ Cyrus instinctively covers his face.

"Help me," he commands, but it comes as a wet cough instead. Weavile gently guides him to Gyarados's serpentine body. Honchkrow shields the rain from his face while Crobat prevents his eyelids from permanently closing. The ball of light is muttering something in its motor-like humming.

And for the first time in a while, Cyrus assesses his injuries. He immediately looks away. Even he had to admit that it was a miracle, something cold hard science can't explain, how the lightning missed all the vital points of his body. _Shame it can't be said for the rest of me._ Given some time, maybe he can teach himself to walk on his own again.

_But not now. Right now, I need to stay awake._

And then the ground rumbles. _Tremors? An earthquake? No—this is the pounding of millions of feet. A legion. An army._

Despite the blanket of cotton pressing down on his face, Cyrus allows a laugh to escape his throat. _So the guards really_ did _come, eh? The rain should've washed away the scent, but alas…_

_Of course justice prevails over the lowly villain in the end._

Cyrus sits up and instantly collapses back onto Gyarados. The sea serpent's body vibrates with a deep growl. Weavile's barking erratically. Zubat and Mu— _no, Crobat and Honchkrow--_ are circling his head like a pair of vultures.

_No, I'm not backing down without a fight. I'm not helpless anymore. I won't let anyone get in my way…_

_No, not again…_

"Gyarados. Dragon Rage." That's what should've been said, not for him to expel another dollop of blood. He can feel the fluid in his lungs sloshing up to his brain. The Pokemon are growing restless. The footsteps keep coming closer.

_Ah. Well. The least I can do is face the end with dignity. This is it. "Cyrus, Leader of Team Galactic," was it? It was… fun, while it lasted. If only for a while… I had a purpose again._

_I had something worth waking up to._

Everything blurs to a cold band of grey. Shapes and colors are no longer distinct concepts. He vaguely makes out warbled chatter in the air. A shadow falls over him. The hand of death touches his face.

 _Wait. No, that's… that's a human hand. It's warm. It's not the heavy gloved hand of a guard's… A guard would never be so gentle to an escaped criminal like me._ Hot fingers cup his face. Another pleasant hand lays on his forehead. Another brushes the blood-matted hair from his eyes. They treat him as if he'll shatter before their very eyes, whoever these phantom hands belong to.

He can't see his Pokemon, but they're not attacking whoever these forces may be. They aren't usually this lenient to strangers… or non-solid entities, for that matter.

Voices. _There are voices in the flickering light._ And then his vision is compromised. The whispering rise to yelling until white noise completely drowns them out.

"B…s!"

"Ma…er…rus…!"

"…rus!"

He can't feel the rain. He can't hear the thunder. He's falling. Falling into the light. 

One final word manages to reach his brain before he plummets into the cold, empty void of nothingness.

"Dad!"


	18. What Lies Beyond the Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia lifts the fog from her locked memories. Rowan's asking too many questions. Thankfully, there's a kid in the party.

"Dia? Pearl and Platinum's not with you?"

The boy gives a timid smile. "Pearl's with his dad right now. And Platinum's back home sorting some things out."

Rowan packs his stuff into his leather purse. Satchel. His leather satchel. "I've asked Dia to accompany us. Foggy Forest is dangerous, and there's a good chance we'll be separated. But if I'm traveling with two powerful Trainers, then that won't be a problem at all! The more the merrier, I say!"

Cynthia gives it some thought. Then she smiles. "Okay. Why not. Welcome aboard, Dia."

"Thank you, Professor and Cynthia!" Dia digs into his backpack and produces a Munchlax-themed lunchbox. "I packed some food for the journey. Let me know if anyone's hungry along the way."

The skies are a melancholy grey as Cynthia pokes her head outside. She searches for the hint of light in those bruised clouds. The tang of rain wafts down her nostrils.

"The sun's out." Rowan locks his door. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" Cynthia laughs softly once she spots that unmistakable glow of the celestial star, just barely visible behind the gloom.

Dia summons Staraptor. Cynthia calls Togekiss. The Trainers look at Rowan, who crosses his arms and says, "Of course I have Pokemon. I _am_ the Pokemon Professor, after all."

Cynthia snorts and pats Togekiss's head. The Pokemon makes a sound in its throat as if it's sighing. _"What are you trying to rope me into now, Cynthia?"_ Its eyes seem to groan.

Cynthia pokes its cheek. "We're not doing anything stupid" _\--illegal—_ "today." Togekiess doesn't look convinced in the slightest. Nevertheless, it allows Cynthia to board its back after another sigh.

Once the Pokemon take flight, Dia turns. "So where are we going?"

Cynthia inhales the fresh smell of the stormy aftermath and shudders. It's hard to believe that a monster storm had ripped across the region only yesterday. Now the monsoon's remnants are littered about the ground like garbage: muddy plains, downed power lines, blackened forests charred by lightning. 

Somehow, the very thought of lighting sends chills to her visceral organs. There's no reason as to why she's suddenly gripping at her chest.

Rowan pulls his coat tighter. "At Cynthia's request, we will be exploring Foggy Forest."

Dia stops munching on his rice ball. "Um… the forest everyone tells us to stay away from?"

Cynthia feels Rowan's sharp eyes on her back. Togekiss sighs. He replies with, "Exactly."

Thankfully, Dia doesn't push it.

But Rowan does. "Cynthia?" _Uh-oh._ She doesn't like that tone. She recomposes her mask and feigns ignorance. "Your memory loss."

"Y-yes? What about it?"

Dia puts down his food. "You lost your memory, Cynthia?"

"Um… yeah?"

Rowan's resting frown dips. _Double uh-oh._ When the Pokemon Professor wants to know something, he'll stop at nothing to satiate his curiosity. His steely eyes burn a hole right through her ricocheting heart.

Cynthia inhales. _Well… maybe I can tell them my side of the story. They're not investigating me, like Looker. They're not prodding me, like the Elite Four._

_They're my friends… not the Champion's._

And as the Pokemon soar over the drenched earth, Cynthia recounts her tale from the moment of her awakening.

* * *

The hairs on her arms stand on end before she even sees the fog. Little beads of moisture dot her skin. Up ahead is an inky white haze that looks like a solid landmass. Togekiss shivers as the air grows heavy like molasses. Cynthia winces from the sudden chill that sneaks down the small of her back.

"I can't see anything." Dia squints through the mist. He waves his hands frantically.

"Let's stop here. Before we crash into something." Cynthia wills Togekiss to land. Dia's Staraptor follows suit. Rowan's oversized Starly clumsily trails behind the two much more adept flyers. The three Pokemon settle down a clearing surrounded by tall pine trees.

"Something's not right about this fog," Rowan mutters as he recalls his Starly. "It's much too dense. Much thicker than last time…"

Cynthia purses her lips. "Togekiss," she says. "Can you try Defog?" Togekiss nods. The bird channels forth a powerful gust from under its wings. The gale shrieks as it whips through the trees.

And yet, there's not a dent in the miasma of white.

Rowan's brows furrow. "Cynthia, are you positive you were here before you lost your memory?"

"Yes," she almost snaps. "Yes, I'm positive. I've had these dreams about a foggy lake… and Cyrus said something about finding me outside Foggy Forest."

But the way Rowan is looking at her sends a fist to her stomach. "Do you really believe him?" he grunts in disbelief. Hot blood coils down her heart. "He's a criminal. A master manipulator. The villain responsible for the theft of the Time—"

"I know what he is, Professor!" Cynthia's shout echoes through the silent forest. Rowan's lips tug downwards. Cynthia clicks her teeth and busies herself with returning a frowning Togekiss.

_Oh Arceus what is wrong with me?_

"Cynthia," Rowan says slowly. "The police said that he took you hostage after he kidnapped you. That he kept you under wraps so you wouldn't interfere with his mad plans of resetting time. And weren't you the one that apprehended him in the first place? That Operation **E.C.L.I.P.S.E.** was—"

_"Professor!"_ Rowan stops. Cynthia releases her clenched fists with a wince. _Why are they all like that?_ "It's all in the past, Professor," she says softly. "I'm telling you my side of the story. If you don't believe me, then fine. I don't care. I have a lead, and I'm following it. I'm searching for the truth. That's that."

Rowan absorbs her words in silence. He huffs and turns away. Cynthia glares at her hands.

"I believe you, Cynthia." The adults whirl around to the child with the rice balls in his hands. Dia looks up with a shy smile. "He took you to see the beach at dusk, right? Where all the Krabby come out to blow bubbles? I think he really wanted to show you that sight, Cynthia. It's a really breathtaking view.

"I don’t think Mister Cyrus is all that everyone says he is. When you fought him at Celestic Town, Cynthia, I could tell that his Pokemon really loved him. When I overhead him talking with his team, I could tell that everyone really respected him."

Cynthia steadies a hand over her chest so the stupid pounding won't drown out her friend's words.

Dia continues with warm eyes, "I've told Pearl and Platinum about what I've felt. Sometimes… when I see him, I could tell he has a lot on his mind. I get the feeling that deep down, he's hurting. But it's really hard to see because he does a really good job of hiding it."

Rowan has been listening intently. The fog breathes down Cynthia's neck. Dia looks at the two adults and gives a weak laugh. "I know I'm just a kid, but that's what I think, at least."

Cynthia rubs her eyes. _Did the sun just break through the mist?_ She shakes her head. _No. It's still fuzzy as heck. But… but this boy…_

"Cynthia?" Dia gasps when she pulls him in for a tight hug. "You're squeezing me…"

"Sorry." When Cynthia releases him, there's a watery smile on her lips. She chuckles and pats Dia on the head. "That's very nice of you, Dia."

The boy blinks. He returns an uncertain grin. "Um… thank you?"

Her Poke ball quivers. Cynthia fumbles for the capsule and releases Garchomp. The land dragon emerges into sight with its nose already pointed upwards to the ambiguous skies.

"What is Garchomp doing?" Rowan watches incredulously as the Pokemon traces a circle on the ground. It seems to be searching for something in this gloom.

Then Garchomp yelps and tugs at Cynthia's arm. She looks back at her companions before telling her Pokemon to lead the way.

As the party maneuvers Foggy Forest, the old wound in the back of her head reopens. She winces. Images of multicolored crystals flash through her eyes. Her chin tingles. Her nose itches. There's a faint yet persistent pain in her sides.

Rowan's voice pierces through the fog. "Cynthia. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so." And after rolling the words around in her brain, Cynthia turns. "Professor? Dia? I need to tell you something."

_I need to take this off my chest._

"Okay." Dia's looking at her rather strangely. Rowan waits. Cynthia exhales.

"Do you remember when we found the Time Gear at Crystal Cave? Well… we had help. It was Cyrus who led us to the Time Gear. He was the one that told me to look at Crystal Cave in the first place. He even managed to link the crystal puzzle with the Lake Pokemon. If it wasn't for him, then we'd still be waiting for Looker to finish his investigation of the volcano."

Garchomp stops. Cynthia also stops. She closes her eyes and awaits their judgement. As expected, Rowan is staring at her as if she'd just turned into a Pokemon before his very eyes. Dia's mouth is open in an "o."

"What?" Rowan clears his throat. "You… you would let that criminal help you?"

Cynthia's eye twitches. _There it is again._ That swelling fire in her bosom. That sudden boiling of her blood. "What's wrong with _Cyrus_ helping me, _Professor?"_ she snaps.

Rowan looks a bit startled. "C-Cynthia? But the news said nothing about this! They said you found a lead, and that it was you and the Elite four who discovered the secret of Crystal Cave!"

Cynthia slices an angry hand through the mist. "Well, that's their version of the truth. I'm telling you my version of what really happened." _Fine. Don't believe me._ "Cyrus helped me more times than I could count, Professor. And I know what I don't know."

Rowan crosses his arms. A pause. Then he speaks. "But why are you telling me this, Cynthia? Shouldn't you be telling Detective Looker instead? The news station?"

His words are like a slap to the face. Cynthia drops her glare, the anger dissipating into a cloud of confusion. _Why_ am _I telling them this? Is it because I feel more comfortable with them? Is it because they're not associated with that damned Operation?_

_Or… or maybe I just need to tell the truth to anyone who would listen. Everyone's acting as if he'd never existed in the first place. To validate his existence… as if he's actually a person… not the monster the world accuses him of being._

"I don't know," Cynthia finally mutters. The back of her head is throbbing. Rowan's questions aren't helping at all.

The miasma seems to have gotten denser, almost to suffocating lengths.

"It's okay, Cynthia." Dia's voice cuts through the mire like a ray of sunshine. He smiles when she looks at him. "Mister Cyrus is really smart. Maybe he genuinely wanted to help you save the world."

"But why?" Rowan grunts. "Didn't he want to destroy it in the first place?"

_"Because I considered you my friend."_ Those words weigh down her heart. And then she sees his face. His eyes. The blood all over his uniform.

Cynthia coughs loudly and turns away. "I don't know," she says out loud—and winces. A sudden headache splits down her skull. 

Garchomp whimpers. It tugs at her sleeve and points to the sky, where there's nothing but fog. Can't even see the sun. But Garchomp is insistent that something's up there, beyond this fortress of impenetrable white.

"What's up there?" Dia says to the Pokemon. The latter grunts and keeps pointing.

"Wait." Rowan's voice suddenly has an edge to it. "Look down. Is that… is that blood on the ground?"

Cynthia's heart almost stops when her eyes reaffirm the Professor's observation. _Yes… those dark stains are unmistakable, even through this distorting mist._ The moisture had retained the blood splatters, keeping them as fresh as they were during the moment of impact.

Upon closer inspection, there appears to be a sort of diagram on the ground. Cynthia instantly yanks Dia behind her. Someone _—or something Arceus forbid—_ had laid down reflective tape on the grass. A small light beacon sits near the written signs, as if marking the area for a return trip. The tape stretches across the grass, as if reenacting the scene of the crime.

"What the heck?" Cynthia mutters as cold sweat explodes on her forehead. Garchomp points to the spot where a yellow sign marked _"Site of Impact"_ lays amidst the blood splatters. _Someone had taken the damn liberty to write it all out too._ The land dragon juts its chin to Cynthia.

"What?" The Pokemon points to the sky. It then drops and rolls on the ground to the taped spot, where it lies completely still. Then it stands and grabs its head. And then it looks to its master again.

The puzzle pieces fall into a horrifying picture. Cynthia's blood turns to ice. "Is that… was that me?" she gasps. "Did I… did I fall down? From up there?" 

Garchomp nods vehemently. Cynthia continues, "And I hit my head? And I rolled down until I wound up here?" Her headache is returning. _Now the sudden fear of being crushed to death makes sense._ There are pebbles and debris littered around the crime scene to confirm her hypothesis.

_But what happened to me up there?_

Rowan and Dia exchange a glance but say nothing.

Cynthia holds up a hand to the agitated Pokemon. The puzzle is forming, but there are still a lot of grey area in her memory. Garchomp's story makes sense, and yet…

"Garchomp, wait. If I fell here, then how did I end up all the way at Veilstone?"

Garchomp blinks, as if she'd just uttered the most obvious thing. It sighs. Then the land dragon straightens… and does something very strange: The Pokemon plants its feet evenly apart, tucks its wings behind its back, tilts its head, and gives her an all too familiar frown.

Rowan watches as Garchomp crouches to pick an indivisible load off the ground with the utmost care as if that bundle is priceless. He leans in and whispers, "Cynthia, I don't mean to be crude, but what the hell is your Pokemon doing?"

Cynthia looks at him. Garchomp continues the game of charade by flapping its wings furiously… as if creating two sets of wings. Then it puffs its chest and grabs at a nonexistent hat on its head… as if it's the big honcho.

_Oh Arceus._

"Is your Pokemon okay?" Dia asks. Cynthia jolts. He bites his lips. "Cynthia, are you okay? Maybe it's the fog, but you look like you've seen a ghost."

"No," she blurts. Then she mentally slaps herself. "I-I mean, yes. Yes, I'm okay. I'm just… just trying to comprehend what Garchomp is trying to show me." She rushes to the land dragon and hugs it tight. Garchomp utters a soft grunt into her chest.

_"Yes,"_ Garchomp seems to say. _"You understand. You know."_

"But why did he lie?" Cynthia mutters. Garchomp makes a sound. _Why can't Pokemon talk, dammit?!_

"Cynthia?" Her companions' voices jar her back to earth. She breathes, straightens, and turns.

"Let's go, everyone," she says, her eyes blazing with determination. "I'm starting to remember. Yes, I did fall here… but as to why, I'm not sure. But if we keep pressing, then we'll have our answers."

The Professor and boy look at each other. "But who did this?" Rowan gestures to the crime scene. "Who put up all these markers? The same person responsible for your accident? Or a happening passerby?"

"I don't know." Cynthia sucks in a painful pocket of air. "But this place is giving me the creeps. The sooner we get out of here, the better." She runs into the fog, Garchomp at her heels. "Professor! Dia! Let's go! We're wasting time!"

"Coming!" Dia rushes towards his friend. Rowan takes one last look at the crime scene before hurrying to the younger ones.

"What did you realize, Cynthia?" he mutters under his breath.

* * *

Cynthia almost falls over if Garchomp hadn't caught her. Her sides are on fire. She fumbles for her pockets and tosses away that thing responsible for burning a hole through her flesh.

"Cynthia!" Rowan pants once he catches up. He leans forward, his chest heaving. "Whew! I certainly overestimated myself," he mumbles to his feet.

Dia cautiously approaches her—until his eyes catch on the glowing stone on the ground. "Cynthia. Your… your thing." Cynthia turns, and her eyes widen.

"What is that?" Rowan wheezes. "A Dusk Stone?"

"That's my Moonstone." Cynthia hesitates before grabbing her treasure. The White Moonstone is emitting a pearly white glow that pierces through the dense fog.

"That?" Rowan wipes his forehead. "That's a Moonstone? But it's white."

"Y-yes." Cynthia gingerly pokes the rock. It's warm to the touch. Her fingers curl around the pulsating stone. _It's warm. Warm like the beach waters under the setting sun._

Rowan inches closer to the phenomenon in question. "A White Moonstone, you say? But why is it white? Why is it glowing? What is that inscription on its surface?"

"I don't know." That phrase is tiring her out. "But it's my personal treasure. I've had it for…"

And she stops. _Yes, if it wasn't for the sudden urges in childhood memories, I would still be believing that it was a gift from Grandma. She said she found it while doing rounds in the Celestic Ruins. Did I drop it somehow?_

_"What is this symbol, Grandma?" a younger Cynthia had asked. "This one, with the wings and swirls."_

_"I've never seen anything like it before, Cynthia," Grandma answered with a hearty laugh. "But I can tell that it's a lucky stone. It radiates a power within itself. You should keep it with you during your journey as a Pokemon Trainer, dear. The time may come when you need it the most."_

Cynthia snaps from her herb-scented memories and back to the present. "I—we found it in one of the caves near the beaches of Sunyshore," she says softly. Rowan listens, as does Dia. "I used to know this boy when I visited the city in the summer. He told me that this was indeed a Moonstone. We believed that these stones would be the keys to riches untold."

Rowan scratches his beard. "He?"

"Y-yes. A boy I knew. From long ago." _Stupid me can't even remember his face or name._

She can hear the gears cranking in Rowan's head. "You said 'these.' Is there a partner to your White Moonstone?"

Cynthia pauses. Garchomp grunts. "Yes," she says after consulting her hazy memories. "I believe that there was indeed a Red Sunstone."

Dia stares at the mysterious inscription on her treasure. "Do you happen to have it, Cynthia? I'd love to see it, if you're okay with it."

Cynthia licks her lips. "I don't know where it is." She palms the warm stone. _Maybe that boy still has it, wherever he is._ "Sorry, Dia."

"It's okay," he chirps. Cynthia smiles. Then he gasps. "Cynthia, your Moonstone… it's pointing!" And sure enough, the stone's glow had honed itself into a triangular point, almost like the arrows of a compass.

Garchomp yips excitedly. Cynthia locks eyes with her companions. The four of them scamper off into the deeper recesses of the fog with Cynthia's treasure leading the way.

"I still don't understand," Rowan pants as they run. "Why did your Moonstone suddenly react like that?"

Cynthia absorbs his words with a frown. She utters that phrase again. "Maybe that's what was supposed to happen." _Yes, the pieces are falling together a little bit_ too _cleanly._

Her heart's about to explode. _So these evolutionary stones actually hold the key to treasure?_ And yet, with that revelation comes a quiet sorrow. But a sorrow for what? For a broken childhood promise? For the other things she had broken in life, things that are shattered beyond the point of repair?

The stone pulsates a soft, creamy glow. Garchomp yelps. Cynthia almost trips again. The compass brings the party through the mire of white until the sound of rushing water hits their ears. Cynthia can make out ponds where the water's coming down in waterfalls. She looks up. _The water's coming down from that mysterious land in the sky, as Garchomp had insisted._

The Moonstone flashes. Cynthia holds it up like a flashlight.

"What is that?" Rowan breathes once the light washes over the clearing.

Two statues lay before the party, edifices half-eaten by the ground. Cynthia's breath hitches once she recognizes the two legendary Pokemon.

"Groudon." Rowan's eyes are very wide. "The Continent Pokemon, rumored to have moved landmasses back in ancient times. And that's Kyogre, the Sea Basin Pokemon, rumored to have parted the seas with its birth."

"But what are they doing in the deepest part of the forest?" Dia whispers.

A cold spark surges down Cynthia' spine. She shines the Moonstone over the weathered surface of the Groudon statue. The figures have been untouched since forever, judging from the flora that had taken residence on their exterior. The fog had preserved these edifices well enough to retain the inscription on the base of the statue.

Cynthia calls Rowan over. "Professor. What does this say?"

Rowan leans forward, brows scrunched in concentration. "Hmmm… Footprint ruins, I see. What do they think I am, a Pokemon? No matter! They don't call me the Pokemon Professor for a nothing!

"Now let's see here… Ah. 'Reignite the life that burned within Groudon. Then the skies shall blaze with the sun's heat. The path to treasure shall be revealed.'"

His words sink into her skull like a blanket of cotton. Cynthia reminds herself to breathe. She checks her wrist. _Yup. Still got that pulse._

"The path to treasure," Cynthia echoes with trembling voice. "Treasure… that must be what the fog's hiding all along!" Rowan's eyes widen with her proclaimation.

But Dia doesn't reflect the adults' enthusiasm. "But what does that mean? How do you reignite life into a statue?"

Cynthia's mirth vanishes down the drain. "That's… a good point." Garchomp points to the heart of the Groudon statue: there's a jagged indention within its chest. The hole can very well fit a certain evolutionary stone…

Rowan reads her mind. "It appears that a Sunstone might fit." He rummages through his purse/satchel and produces said evolutionary stone. "I keep six copies of each one, just in case some forgetful Trainer needs them," he explains to his gaping audience.

Alas, the stone is too small. Rowan frowns. He tries again with the stubbornness of a toddler pushing a square block into a circular hole. "I don't understand," he huffs. "It's the perfect shape! And Sunstones aren't that big in the first place."

Cynthia absorbs his observation in silence. Then she leans closer. "Wait. That. In there." Within the crevice is an engraving. A very mysterious, very familiar inscription.

"Cynthia," Dia breathes. "That's the same picture on your White Moonstone."

_You're right, Dia._ The White Moonstone grows warmer in her palms. Rowan raises a bushy brow. Cynthia exhales and jabs the stone into the hole.

_Well, duh. Of course it doesn't work._

Rowan turns. "Wait. There's also text on the Kyogre statue. Come here, you two." He peers closer to the runes. "Erm… Ah. 'Reawaken the spirit that dwells within Kyogre. Then the seas shall waver under the moon's light. The path to treasure shall be revealed."

_The moon's light… The moon controls the tides. Fog is made of water._ Cynthia steadies a hand on her hammering chest. _Yes… yes! There is indeed an indention in Kyogre's heart! A circular hole bearing the same winged inscription as Groudon's statue!_

The glowing Moonstone glimmers like a star in her hand. She exchanges a glance with Rowan and Dia before placing her white Moonstone into Kyogre's heart. 

The stone slides in with a smooth click. And nothing happens, until a flash of blue light sparks into Kyogre's stone eyes, the glow cutting across the mist like a hot knife. The ground trembles. The waterfalls frizzle. Garchomp pushes the humans down before a dazzling explosion of heat razes through the foggy forest.

And when Cynthia regains her bearings, the fog is gone. The air is no longer thick and heavy. She inhales pollen and exhales the scent of dewy grass. A warm breeze grazes her face.

Dia grabs her hand. "Cynthia! Look! The sun! I can see the sun again!"

"It's so bright." Rowan squints under the shade of his hand. "Has the sun always been there?" His gaze shifts. "Oh! Everyone, look! Up there!"

_Is the ground still shaking? Oh. No, it's not._ She's the one that's shaking, only this time, it's out of anticipation. Adrenaline bursts in pockets up her brain. Garchomp grins when its master's jaw drops at the breathtaking sight before them.

"That's what the fog was hiding," Rowan says breathlessly. "We were just wandering around in circles. To think that _this_ is the true face of Foggy Forest…"

The water begins in that giant plateau in the sky and ends as waterfalls when it reaches the ground. The fog is lifting from her dreams. The padlock is loosening from her memories.

"Fogbound Lake is up there." Her heart is racing again. She yanks back her Moonstone. "Let's go! Let's go! To the top! To Fogbound Lake!"

"Wait!" Rowan beckons the two jumping children over to the statues. The two legendary Pokemon glisten proudly under the harsh sunlight. "There's another round of text."

Rowan clears his throat. "'Present both the Sun and Moon to the early light. Reunite the two beings under the same sky. Then the path to destiny shall be revealed.'"

_OH ARCEUS ARCEUS ARCEUS!_ Garchomp gently nudges her arm. Cynthia breathes to calm her bouncing nerves. "What destiny? Is it treasure? A secret place?" She grasps the Moonstone closer to her chest. "Both the sun and moon? Like… up there? How? How do you even do something that's practically impossible to accomplish?"

Rowan turns. _Oh Arceus, is he smiling? Is this old man with his perpetual scowl actually grinning like a ten year-old child?_ "I'm sure it has something to do with your White Moonstone, Cynthia, judging from what happened with the Kyogre statue. Perhaps when we gather both your stone and that Red Sunstone… an even bigger treasure awaits us!"

Cynthia gasps. "Oooh, it's like we're actual exploration team right now!"

Rowan springs to his feet. "This is the most important archaeological discovery of my life! And I owe it all to you and Dia! My, I feel as if I just found a crystal skull or something! Just wait until I write up the report! And then I'll contact Birch for his opinion, and then I'll…"

Dia makes a little sound in his throat. The adults stop and turn. "Um… can I also come the next time you decide to return, Professor and Cynthia? I'm sure Pearl and Platinum would love to come too."

Cynthia laughs until her stomach is warm. "Of course, Dia! We'll need all the help we can get!" Dia grins. Rowan chuckles.

Then Cynthia claps her hands. Garchomp pumps its claw in the air. "Okay, team! Let's go! Onward to Fogbound Lake!"

* * *

Cynthia immediately flinches. They've reached the peak of Steam Cave, and yet, there's nothing here except for the cave exit. Nothing visible, anyway. The White Moonstone is once again burning a hole in her pocket. Her head throbs. An uncanny, foreboding sense of impending doom clutches her chest.

Dia freezes. He's hugging himself tightly, despite there not being a drop of moisture in the air.

"Something isn't right." Rowan instinctively covers his throat. Gooseflesh had blossomed down every inch of his exposed skin. "I don't see anything, and yet, the air is literally crackling with tension!"

Cynthia inhales sharply. Garchomp bares its teeth with smoke frothing from its jaw.

_Wait. I know this feeling. Yes… yes, I've been here before! Just right ahead is the exit to the Lake! But… but before that… there was…_

**_"GRROOOOOOHHHH!"_ **

The ground trembles as if the world had folded in on itself. Cynthia's vision explodes into red. Crimson eyes spark to life behind the veil of darkness. A head trudges into light. A body. A giant, pronged tail that scars the very ground with its presence.

**_"GRROOOOOOHHH!!"_ **

"T-that's Groudon!" Rowan sputters. "N-no! But how....? It can't… it can't be here…!"

"Stay behind me, Professor!" Dia summons his Snorlax, who towers in front of its owner like a shield. "Lax! Watch out! We're up against a legendary Pokemon!"

**_"GRROOOOOHHH!!"_** The sunlight turns harsh, almost blinding the party.

Dia grits his teeth but forces his trembling feet to hold. Snorlax steadies itself. "Lax, Groudon's charging Solarbeam! Be careful when—Cynthia? Cynthia, where are you—CYNTHIA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Don't worry, Dia," Cynthia says before she takes a step forward. And another. Her reflection dances in Groudon's eyes like a flickering flame. The legendary Pokemon snarls. Its skin begins pulsating like a beating heart.

"Cynthia!" Rowan yells. "Come back—Garchomp? GARCHOMP, DON'T FOLLOW HER!!"

The land dragon gives him an even glance before turning back to accompany its Trainer. She stops before the vibrating Groudon. Her face betrays no sign of fear. Groudon raises its head as the sunlight explodes into a blazing white.

Rowan and Dia watch in horror as the Continent Pokemon's body erupts into a fully-charged Solarbeam.

"CYNTHIA!!"

But when the debris clears and the light dies, Cynthia's still standing without a scratch on her body. Garchomp shrugs off the dust with a snort. Her companions' jaw drops as Cynthia calmly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she brings her arm back and punches the legendary Pokemon in the heart.

The illusion dissolves in a glistening haze.

"What…" Rowan croaks after a stunned silence. "What… " He blinks. He shakes his head.

"Cynthia!" Dia rushes to his friend. There are tears in his eyes. "Cynthia! Are you okay?!"

"I'm fine." She pats his head with a smile. "I didn't mean to worry you. This Groudon isn't real. It's just an illusion."

"But…" Rowan rubs his eyes. "But how…"

"My memory's coming back, Professor. I _have_ been here before." She gestures to the air. "The Groudon trick was created to deter intruders from discovering the truth. The fog was created to hide the secret that lies beyond that light."

Rowan casually dusts his coat with trembling hands. "But… Who? Who or what went to such great lengths to protect the mystery of Fogbound Lake?"

Dia gasps. Cynthia turns to the glowering Pokemon behind her—the Lake Guardian with a golden crown on its head, a crimson jewel glistening in its headpiece. Like its fallen friend, this pixie Pokemon is glaring at the humans who dared to shatter its illusion.

"Uxie," Cynthia says. "The Guardian of Knowledge." 


	19. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks abound. And who said Pokemon can't talk?

_"You remembered."_

That voice stops Cynthia cold. She glances at her companions. They just return her incredulous stare.

_"Impressive."_ Uxie tilts its head up to the sunlight, its jewel glinting like a crystalline rose. _"Perhaps I was too merciful last time."_

"Did… did that Pokemon just talk?" Rowan sputters. For once in his life, something managed to slip past his resting frown.

_"I prefer to call it 'telepathy.'"_ Uxie regards the humans with a tight mouth. Cynthia feels the fire brewing behind closed eyelids. _"And although out time together is short, I cannot let you leave with your memories intact."_

Cynthia shakes her head vehemently. "W-wait, Uxie! I just want to talk to you!"

_"Oh?"_ Uxie's jewel begins to pulsate. _"Do you wish to steal the Time Gear again?"_

 _What?_ Cynthia's hands fly to her chest. White blossoms explode in her vision. Those images flash through her mind: the foggy lake, the emerald-green glow, the red gem that shattered the eternal darkness with its light.

"That's not true!" Dia cries. He scrambles to Cynthia's side. "No, Uxie! Cynthia's not a thief!"

Uxie is silent. _"Human child, I sense the truth in your heart. But no, I remember. I remember the human who dared to trespass upon Fogbound lake…"_ The Pokemon rams its tails against the ground with deliberate harshness. _"And I remember everything."_

Rowan slowly turns his head. "Is that true, Cynthia?"

"N-no…" Her voice cracks. There's a burning pain in the back of her throat.

_"I was looking for something,"_ she had told Cyrus a long time ago. _"Before I lost my memory, I was certain that I was looking for something important…"_

The nightmares of a bright light gnaw at her heart. The fear of rocks crushing her head worms its way into her waking consciousness. She recalls the physiological symptoms that arose when she was at Mystifying Forest… at Crystal Lake…

…at any place that hid a Time Gear.

_Was Uxie actually telling the truth?_

Garchomp snarls. It marches between its master and the Guardian of Knowledge plants its feet down. The dragon eyes Uxie carefully before exploding into what sounds like a courtroom prosecutor's opening argument.

Dia squeezes Cynthia's hand. It takes a good minute for the sensation to register in her brain. "Cynthia! Snap out of it! I know you didn't do it!"

_But what if I did, Dia_? The heavy realization is settling upon her skull.

Rowan keeps a distance between him and Cynthia. It's the way he's looking at her that wedges the knife deeper into her heart.

_"Human."_ The party stares at the mythical Pokemon. Uxie's expression is different now… almost softer. Calmer. _"Garchomp here advocates for your innocence. She wishes for me to hear your story. I shall give you another chance before I make my decision."_

Cynthia presses a palm to her pounding chest as the crushing gravity springs from her shoulders. Garchomp shuffles to its Trainer with a small smile. She wraps her arms around the dragon's neck.

_What did you say, Garchomp? Just what the hell did you tell Uxie?_

 _"You have questions for me."_ Uxie is waiting patiently. Its tails brush against the ground.

It's Rowan who speaks. "U-Uxie? You said Cynthia tried to steal your Time Gear?"

Uxie tilts its head. Cynthia drops her gaze. _"Yes. Although, Garchomp insists otherwise. From my perspective, you defeated my Groudon illusion and trespassed into Fogbound lake."_

Cynthia is very, very still. Garchomp gently shakes her back to earth.

_"You and your accomplice were within grabbing distance of the Time Gear. I employed the proper precautions, although I only managed to erase your memories while the other ran free."_

Cynthia finally finds her voice. "A-accomplice…?"

Uxie nods grimly. _"The very same who accompanied you to Crystal Lake. Mesprit recovered after your group left. He immediately warned me in case something like that did happen again."_

The world spins under her feet. _So there was another person with me at the scene of the crime! But… at Crystal Lake too? What does that mean…?_

A terrifying possibility is blooming in her heart.

Garchomp snaps its jaw. Uxie tilts its head, listening. Then the Guardian straightens and beckons the party forward to the cave exit. The humans exchange a glance before following the Pokemon into the expanse of darkness.

Glimmering stars sparkle in the heavens above. The nightfall casts a blanket of tranquility upon the waters. A warm breeze grazes her face as she enters open air. They're now overlooking the top of the plateau where a vast lake stretches to the horizon.

"Is it nighttime already?" Rowan mutters.

_"No."_ Uxie turns. _"It is always dark up here, in Fogbound Lake."_

"This is Fogbound Lake?" Dia breathes. The lake's lights reflect in his eyes. "I've never seen anything like this in my life! It's beautiful!"

A soft sound vibrates from Uxie's throat. _"Thank you. This is the sole reason I am here, after all."_

A giant geyser dances in the center of the lake. Multicolored lights pulsate from the watery bottom, its glow refracting to the surface. _" Water constantly wells up from far below this place. It flows up so heavily that it has long formed this enormous lake."_ Uxie points to the distance. _"The geyser erupts every now and then. The glow of many Illumise and Volbeat gives it that particular light. "_

"So that glow is from Pokemon?" Rowan squints at a particularly emerald-green illumination within the geyser.

Uxie answers by casting a glance at the gaping Cynthia. She exhales sharply through her teeth.

"It's from the Time Gear," Cynthia says. Her companions' jaw drops. Uxie, though, remains nonplussed.

_"Correct. You were indeed here before I took my memory."_

Cynthia drags her eyes to the Guardian of Knowledge. "But… why would I steal a Time Gear in the first place?"

_"Why are you asking me?"_ Uxie doesn't sound mad. Rather, it sounds almost…perplexed. _"Your heart also speaks the truth. You genuinely believe that you came here without ill intent."_

"I believe Cynthia!" She turns her gaze to the adamant boy. The Guardian measures him evenly before turning back to watch the Time Gear.

"Uxie?" Cynthia mutters.

_"Yes?"_

"You said I had an accomplice…?"

Uxie turns. _"An accomplice… A friend… An enemy… I do not know your relationship with that human, nor is it any of my business to know. But you were indeed not alone during your first visit. I had thought you two returned to enact revenge upon Mesprit for what had transpired here."_

Cynthia steadies a hand on her chest. "Who…" She licks her lips. "Who was that person?"

Silence. Rowan and Dia's eyes are on her. Garchomp fidgets with her fur coat. Uxie regards Cynthia with a strange expression before raising a pale arm.

_"I will return your memories,"_ the Guardian says. _"Perhaps you can make more sense of it than me… and you will tell me your story after then."_

A buttery warmth swells in her heart. She presses her hands to her mouth. "Oh, thank you!" she whispers. "Thank you so much, Uxie!" _This is it. What I've worked so hard for. Finally, the truth is within my grasp._

"This is great, Cynthia!" Dia exclaims. "You'll finally regain your memories!"

Rowan clears his throat. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Cynthia." His voice is soft. "Hopefully everything will be clear once this is over."

_"Yes, but before that…"_ Everyone turns to the Guardian of Knowledge. _"I have a question for you, Trainer of Garchomp."_

"Y-yes?" Cynthia gasps.

Uxie hesitates. Its jewel flashes, and Groudon reappears besides the group, hunched and ready to attack. Rowan yelps. Dia quickly pulls him back.

"That's the Groudon illusion," Cynthia says calmly, turning to Uxie. It nods.

_"Countless others have tried to trespass here. I've used my Psychic powers to create illusions like so… The very few who managed to overcome my tests hold only ill intentions in their hearts. I took away their memories, thus protecting the lake._

 _"As you are well aware by now, I am also responsible for the fog that gave Foggy Forest its name."_ Uxie's forehead scrunches. _"As a permanent solution, I have destroyed the Drought Stone so none can abuse its power ever again. Doing so would keep this place safe from trespassers…_

_"And yet, there is something that still puzzles me. How did you solve the puzzle, Garchomp's Trainer? How did you lift the fog without using the Drought Stone?"_

Everyone's looking at Cynthia. She fumbles for her pockets and produces the gleaming White Moonstone. Upon its presence, Uxie jolts, its eyelids cracking open for a heartbeat in time.

_"Where did you get that?"_ Uxie gasps. _"That White Moonstone…."_

"You… know of it?" That's the first time Uxie had ever broken from its stoic composure. The only thing that made Uxie falter. "It's my personal treasure. I found it in one of the caves at the beaches in Sunyshore."

"Uxie." Rowan's eyes are wide. "You've seen it before?"

_"Yes,"_ the Pokemon whispers. It hovers closer to the stone and places a trembling stub on its surface. _"However, I never expected such a thing to be in your hands… of all places…"_ The gears crank loudly in its head. _"But if this is so, then that could only mean…"_ The Pokemon trails off into an incoherent mumble.

"Uxie?"

Uxie's head snaps up. _"Human. What is your name?"_

"Me? O-oh. Um… I'm Cynthia."

Uxie nods as it rolls the name around in its mind. Garchomp frowns. _"Cynthia. Like the moon. Derived from the forgotten language for 'Shirona, the White Moon.'"_ Those words are uttered with a sense of awe. Something prickles in her memory. _"I see. For the White Moonstone to have chosen you… Things have indeed gotten interesting…"_

"What are you talking about, Uxie?" Cynthia mutters as her heart pounds up to her skull.

Uxie shakes its head. _"Things that are beyond your realm of comprehension, Cynthia. The time is not right. No, not yet._

_"But yes, what you are carrying is not just a White Moonstone. It is one of the two keys to unlocking a grand secret as old as the dawn of time."_

Cynthia's heartbeat almost drowns out Uxie's words. She opens her mouth to hot air. The Moonstone seems to have grown warmer in her palms.

"Does that have anything to do with the inscription found on both the Kyogre and Groudon statue?" Rowan asks. "The ones about presenting both stones to the early light?"

Uxie's forehead lifts, as if it's pleasantly surprised. _"Oh? You can decipher footprint runes? Impressive, human. I mean it."_ A slight flush crosses Rowan's ears, but he clears his throat and casually shrugs it off. He still looks damn proud of himself though.

_"But yes,"_ Uxie continues. _"Although I myself is uncertain of its true implications. We—the Lake Guardians—are aware that the stones were created to guard a great secret. Only when presented with the right conditions will the prophecy be fulfilled."_

Everything is happening so fast that Cynthia's brain is close to exploding and spraying this hallowed lake with grey matter.

And yet, Uxie still isn't done. _"Cynthia?"_

"Y-yes, Uxie?"

The Pokemon glances around. _"Where is your partner? The holder of the Red Sunstone? Mesprit told me he saw both of you back at Crystal Lake."_

_What?_

"What?" Rowan and Dia echo her sentiment. Garchomp turns to Cynthia with unreadable eyes.

"T-that's impossible," she finally chokes. "There's no way… I-I mean, there's…" _The only person that could possibly possess such a thing was…_

Uxie observes the silence with a pensive frown before shaking its head. _"I digress. Perhaps it will make sense after I return your memory."_

The red jewel flashes. Uxie holds out its arm. With a deep breath, Cynthia walks to the Guardian and accepts its hands. Uxie is still before its eyelids snap open, and Cynthia is once again blinded by that familiar white light.

* * *

What if something else was responsible for the collapsing of time around the region? I know it's not due to random Pokemon activity, as the police had stated… No, something is off about this entire phenomenon… Maybe it has something to do with those things Grandma told me about, those gears that governed time… Maybe they're actually real. If so, I need to find them before it's too late…

_Cynthia's thoughts were racing as Togekiss descended upon the Foggy Forest. If her research was right, this ominous location was most likely to hide the mythical Time Gear. Either that, or the fog was definitely a front for something else. The sooner she found the secret, the faster she can let everyone know that this issue was no laughing matter. For now, her side quest of pursuing Cyrus would have to be put on hold._

Speaking of which, damn you, Cyrus. _She clenched her fists as she ran about the forest with Garchomp in the lead. She had severely underestimated him back when they finally met face-to-face at her hometown. He wasn't at all like his goofy minions—no, his power was on a whole other level--on another galaxy, even. Even with her type-advantage, he still managed to defeat her Pokemon by utilizing his surroundings._

_Even after she skewered him with Garchomp's Draco Meteor, he was still standing!_

_"Are you even human?" Cynthia had gasped after her Garchomp fainted from exhaustion. He merely regarded her with a tilt of the head and those cold, emotionless eyes as he recalled his battered Gyarados._

_"You may call me anything you wish. Surprise me." His monotone terrified her. He wasn't even fazed by the blood streaming down his face or from the smoke hissing from his gaping wounds. "But it's clear that you've lost our battle, Champion Cynthia. You played your trump card, but you were unable to defeat me. I know you have nothing left."_

_He brushed past her without a break in his icy mask. She hugged Garchomp tighter to her chest. "You are as strong as they say you are, and yet, you are both overconfident and rash." He turned slightly to reveal his eye, the palest blue she had ever seen. "Your emotions prevent you from being in control of your mind and actions. As a figurehead to your people, you mustn't disappoint them by paying heed to your weak and incomplete heart."_

_The anger surged back to her brain. "Don't you dare lecture me about heart, you heartless robot! I swear I'll bring you to justice one day!" She jabbed an angry finger at him. "An emotionless freak like you should just go off somewhere alone. If you hate the world, find somewhere you can live without seeing others!" She shot him a bitter smirk. "I hear that cliff-rolling is popular nowadays with nihilists, just thought I'd let you know."_

_Something flashed in those empty eyes. He turned away. She thought she saw his hands trembling for a second there. "So a machine like you actually experience pain after all, huh?"_

_He kept silent. A dusty breeze whipped past the two enemies. "I shall be going now." Once again, his voice betrayed nothing of the attack that had happened. "It was a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Until we meet again, Champion Cynthia."_

_And with that, he's gone._

_Not a day passed without the constant humiliation nagging in the back of her mind. She'd failed to protect the hallowed Celestial Ruins from his prying eyes. And now he's out there, doing who-knows-what with the information he'd gleaned from the inscriptions… if he could even read it in the first place._

_He couldn't have understood it… right?_

_If he was that ambitious to trespass hallowed grounds, what would happen if he found out about the Time Gears' debatable existence? It won't be good, that's for sure. All the more to find them before he did._

_Cynthia worked quickly and efficiently. With Garchomp's help, she located the Drought Stone near a shrubby crevice. Placing it within the Groudon Statue at the deepest part of the forest lifted the fog. She climbed Steam Cave and defeated the same Groudon, only this time it was just an illusion._

_Illusions were meant to protect something, so she must be on the right path._

_And she arrived at Fogbound Lake. True to its word, on the highest peak of the plateau was a vast expanse of water overlooking the entire forest. Cynthia marveled at the view before her eyes caught on a peculiar green light at the center of the lake._

_"Garchomp!" she whispered, hurrying to the glow. "That must be it! That must be the Time Gear!" Her heart raced with relief, and yet, she couldn't shake this unsettling feeling in her stomach._

_And then Garchomp growled. The sound immediately raised flags in her brain. Cynthia slowly turned, and her scowl dissipated into a smile. "Oh! What are you doing here?" she squinted at her friend's hazy outline._

_Garchomp was snarling now. Cynthia gently told it to back off, but the land dragon refused to step down. "Come on, Garchomp. That's not our enemy! Remember? That's my friend."_

_Garchomp shot her a cold glare. She immediately jolted back._

_"You shouldn't be here, Cynthia." Wait a minute. What's wrong with ----'s voice? It sounded tinny. Metallic. Ancient._

_It sounded wrong._

_"----?" Cynthia inched closer to Garchomp._

_Her friend's head twitched as if it was yanked by indivisible strings. And when ------ looked at her, she saw something else behind ----'s eyes. "You shouldn't be here, Cynthia. This isn't what Master Dialga wanted."_

_"Dialga?" Cynthia locked eyes with Garchomp. "You're not making sense, -----."_

_But ---- just laughed, an uncanny, broken sound that sent gooseflesh crawling up her neck. ------- called out ----'s Pokemon. "Soon time will stop completely… Soon the world will be trapped in eternal darkness… I won't let you change the future, Cynthia._

_"Your story ends here."_

_Cynthia managed to evade the Pokemon's attack but failed to dodge the secondary round. She hissed and spat out a stray lock of hair. Her hand burnt as if it was lit on fire. "Garchomp! Draco Meteor now!" Yes, there's something fundamentally wrong with her friend, whose mind appeared to be not at all here._

_Giant meteors rained down on the lake, impaling the watery surface. However, ----'s Pokemon halted the impending attack before the asteroids could reach its owner._

_"Master Dialga will not be pleased!" Her friend roared for the Pokemon's next attack._

_"What the hell is wrong with you, ----?!" Could this have something to do with the recent spike in crime? Something about how all the perpetrators claimed to have been possessed by something otherworldly… something about time stopping… something about a Master…_

_Yes, something was definitely wrong, and she wasn't about to take any chances. She'll bring ------ back by force if necessary! "Garchomp, Dragon Rage!"_

_"I'm sorry, Cynthia." ----'s Pokemon blasted her land dragon back with another attack. Garchomp slammed back into Cynthia, sending both of them crumbling to the ground. "You're my friend, but you're a threat to Master Dialga's plan. "Now then, I believe it's time for you to—"_

_A sharp, angry shriek pierced through the lake. A Pokemon shot from the fountain of water where the Time Gear resided, its crimson jewel pulsating on its golden crown._

_"U-Uxie!" ----'s face was white with fear._

Uxie? Like the mythical Pokemon from Grandma's stories? Hold on… wasn't there something of a warning? Something about Uxie's eyes…

_Uxie threw its head back in a vengeful cry. The waters churned and spilled over the plateau's edge as chaos swept over the lake. Whirlpools spin into the air like evil spires. The Volbeat and Illumise fled instantly, plunging the lake into darkness._

_"Wait!" Cynthia called when ---- turned and scampered from sight. Uxie turned at the sound of her voice, and its face contorted. The gem on its head was burning now, and dangerously so. But despite the primal instincts screaming at her to flee, an unknown force held Cynthia in place as Uxie stormed to her face._

_Garchomp screeched. There was no time to react before Uxie opened its eyes._

_The lake trembled as a monster tide ravaged through the landscape, taking everything and everyone with it. Angry waterfalls spilled down the ledges to the forest below. Garchomp rushed to catch its owner before a cold torrent swept them off their feet. Uxie growled as it watched the two trespassers plummet down from the plateau in the sky._

* * *

Cynthia jolts back to the present. _No. That's not possible. That person… that person was…_

But Uxie continues to grip her hands. Its golden eyes are bright and white like the purest crystal.

_"No. You are not done yet. There is more… much more."_

And the next thing she knows, Cynthia's staring at her broken body through Garchomp's eyes.

* * *

_Garchomp held Cynthia tight as Pokemon and Trainer fell through the air. The land dragon lost count of how many times they've bounced off the rock ledges. How many times branches splintered into her hide, how many times stray rocks ranging from pebbles to boulders impaled onto her skin. There's no way to fight this torrent of water, especially with her type-disadvantage._

_But Garchomp had to protect her human. Cynthia's body is limp, her face affixed in a permanent state of shock. Whatever Uxie did, Garchomp could still see the horrifying light that had seared itself into Cynthia's eyes._

_The water finally deposited them down onto the forest clearing. Despite Garchomp's best efforts, Cynthia banged her head against the ground with a horrifying crunch._

_"NO!" Garchomp scrambled to her feet. "NO! CYNTHIA!"_

_Warm blood oozed onto Garchomp's arms, the red muddling with the watery residue. She instinctively let go, and her Trainer crumpled to the floor like a rag doll. There's just too much blood. There's too much happening right now…_

_A dull pain throbbed in Garchomp's leg. Maybe the fall injured her much more than she'd cared to admit._ But if I don't act fast, then Cynthia will…

_Garchomp raised her head and howled, "Someone! Anyone! My Trainer needs help!" The sad, broken cry resonated throughout the still forest. The fog had grown thicker—possibly Uxie's doing._

_"We can't help you," the forest's Pokemon muttered. "How do we even help a human…?"_

_"Cynthia's lost a lot of blood!" Garchomp snapped to the useless inhabitants. "Can't you at least find someone?"_

_They responded by scampering away._

_"Damn you! Damn all of you and your stupid fore—" A hammer banged against her head. She dropped to her knees, panting and wheezing as her vision slid out of focus._

No. No, Garchomp. It hurts like hell, but you need to find help. The fog's getting thicker. Time is of the essence…

_The world spun under her feet. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to straighten._

"Something isn't right here."

_Garchomp's head snapped up to the very human voice from just beyond the trees. She rushed to the beacon of hope, despite the needles prickling her limbs._

_"The fog suddenly did get thicker, didn't it? Be careful. This isn't normal fog." Four wings are flapping from somewhere in the gloom._

"Very well. We'll put this expedition on hold then, Crobat. I'm certain that a Time Gear resides in this forest, but it's too dangerous to proceed."

 _That voice sent a chill down Garchomp's spine._ Him. It could only be him. The one who defeated her at Celestic Town. That damned machine.

_Garchomp leapt from the bushes with blazing teeth. Her enemy flinched violently as her fangs connected with his wrist. She felt blood in her mouth. A cracking, a popping sound. The smell of seared flesh._

_"STOP!" Crobat screamed. The bat slammed into Garchomp with an X-Scissors. The land dragon yanked her jaw free and staggered back. Crobat bared her fangs with utmost malice dripping from her eyes._

"Wait, Crobat!" _The man snapped before his Pokemon could retaliate._

_"But, Cy—"_

"Crobat, stop attacking! Now!" _The man stared at the wheezing Garchomp. His eyes lingered on her bruises, her scratches, her open wounds. He noted the trail of blood from her tail. His expression darkened, and that's when she knew that he knew that something was indeed very, very wrong._

_"Don't take another step!" Garchomp snarled. The world was spinning. "I have another round of Draco Meteor with your name on it, freak!" Her wounds pulsated. Garchomp dropped to her knees with a faint gasp._

_"Watch your mouth!" Crobat hissed. She unfurled her wings in preparation for a volley of Supersonics._

_But to both Pokemon's surprise, the man held a hand before Crobat and spoke again._ "You're the Champion's Garchomp…" _He glanced around the forest before returning his penetrating gaze to the glowering land dragon._ "But why are you here? Where is your Trainer?"

_"Beat it, punk!" Garchomp opened her jaw, only for her vision to explode into red._

_The man's eyes darkened._ "Something happened to the Champion," _he stated with utmost conviction. Garchomp gasped as his lips bristled to show teeth._ "She's injured, isn't she? Take me to her, Garchomp."

_"B-but you're—"_

"Garchomp. Now."

_The land dragon flinched at the cold finality in his voice. The small, nagging voice of reason whispered into her ears._ You're in no condition to fight the enemy, Garchomp. Every minute you spend wasting time is another minute from Cynthia's life. You have no choice. He just had to show up in the worst possible time. But if you let your pride get in the way, then Cynthia could…

_"Fine," Garchomp spat. Crobat shielded her Trainer with a wing when the land dragon rightened herself. "This way." She led the man and his bat back to the clearing._

_Cynthia hadn't moved. Garchomp wasn't sure if she even breathed. Her skin was whiter than the fog itself. The blood had stained her golden hair into a crimson gossamer. It's as if she'd suddenly become an angel: an angel with a bloody halo and splattered wings._

_"Oh no…" Crobat fluttered to Cynthia. "Oh nononono… What happened to her, Garchomp?"_

_"Look for yourself! Stop asking me stupid questions!" Garchomp snapped. Crobat quickly dropped her gaze. The dragon huffed and swiveled back to the enemy. "Well? Are you just going to let her bleed to death? Don't just stand there and—"_

_And then she noticed the horror on his face. He's frozen in his spot, as if gripped by Paralysis itself. The anger dissolved into confusion when she saw that glaring crack on his frozen mask._

_"Cyrus!" Crobat bashed his chin._

_The man's head snapped up with a painful gasp. He buried his face into his hands and held it for a while. When he finally looked up, his eyes were very, very bright._

_Something tugged at Garchomp's heart, and she didn't know why._

_"Cyn—Champion?" Garchomp never thought it was possible for him to break monotone until she heard it live. No, right now, he's not completely devoid of emotion. Not at all._

_Maybe it's the disorienting fog, but Garchomp swore she's seeing another person in the man's exact spot… A person from Gible's hazy memories of a time long forgotten._

_"Champion Cynthia?" His voice wavered slightly. He clenched his trembling fists before taking a few painful, tentative steps to her broken body with Crobat by his side. Garchomp hesitated before joining up with her enemies._

_This damn fog's messing with her mind. Now she's seeing a Zubat next to that man instead._

_"Hey." Crobat gently nipped at his ear when he froze up again. Garchomp gritted her teeth, but she also nudged his leg. He stiffened before whirling around to regard the land dragon with a very surprised frown._

"N-no. You two are right. I'm wasting time." _With a deep, jerky breath that rocked his shoulders, the man knelt before Cynthia. His breathing was too uneven. Garchomp could hear his heart hammering in his chest. His hands would hover over her wounds before he jerked them back as if he was desecrating something precious._

 _"Cyrus." Crobat's voice is gentle. He closed his eyes._ Oh. His vital signs are stabilizing. Good. That's a relief... _His hands still showed the slightest hint of a tremble when he cradled her head into his arms, neverminding the blood seeping up his clothes._

"It's just blood," _he muttered to himself, almost like reciting a mantra._ "A combination of red cells, white cells, plasma. Two cycles in cold water will suffice… " _He tore off a large section of his shirt and applied a tourniquet to halt her bleeding. He worked quickly and carefully with the precision of a doctor's as he applied disinfectant, pressure, and bandages to her injuries._

_As Garchomp watched with open jaw, Crobat eased down on the ground besides her. "Garchomp?"_

_The land dragon snorted. "What?"_

_Crobat's ears drooped. "Erm… no, nevermind. I apologize for the inconvenience."_

_"Whatever." Garchomp crossed her arms and looked away. Then when the guilt became too much to bear, she cast a marginal glare at her adversary._

_"I know you don't trust us." The bat's words squeezed Garchomp's chest. Crobat looked up with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We're enemies, after all. But still, we can't just cast a blind eye to someone who needs our help. Cynthia's too precious to the people in this world. If something were to happen to her, he and I would…" She dropped her gaze. "Don't worry. We'll be gone after we make sure she's okay."_

_Garchomp absorbed those words in silence. She turned to Crobat's Trainer. He's cleaning up the blood from the wound in the back of Cynthia's head. His face was grim and tight, but he remained focused on the task before him._

_She turned to Crobat, who gave her a weak, hesitant smile._

_"So…" Crobat tried again. "What were you two doing out here, in the middle of nowhere?"_

_Garchomp snapped her jaw. Her eyes flickered to the man again._

_"Worry not," Crobat said quickly. "He doesn't understand us anyways."_

_"But I heard him talking to you," Garchomp grunted. "He understood you."_

_Crobat tilted her head._ Like Trainer, like Pokemon, eh? _"Is that how you see it? Well… I think my human just… understands me. I've been with him for some time now, ever since I was a small Zubat. Isn't it the same case for you and your Trainer as well?"_

_Garchomp absorbed those words with a pensive frown. Crobat laughed softly, a sound that created a strange warmth in Garchomp's stomach. "Interesting. Anyway, the boy and I were hunting for treasure. He was certain that Foggy Forest was hiding a great secret." She gave the land dragon a look. "You wouldn't happen to see this thing called a 'Time Gear,' have you?"_

_Garchomp absently rubbed her arms. "I've heard the legends, if that's what you mean. Everyone knows to stay away from them, even the most hardened criminal Pokemon." Crobat followed Garchomp's claw. "We were up there when Cynthia found the Time Gear. It's blue and gives off an otherworldly glow, right?"_

_"Yes…" Crobat squinted into the fog. "Even with my X-ray vision, it's impossible to see what lies ahead. Are you sure there's something up there, Garchomp?"_

_"Yes. There's a lake."_

_Crobat's mouth widened into a circle. "A lake?" she gasped. "Maybe we were going in the right direction after all…"_

_Garchomp had been so engrossed in conversation to hear him the first time._ "Garchomp," _the man repeated with the cold authority of a leader's._ "Come here." _Garchomp exchanged a look with Crobat before shuffling forward to Cynthia's enemy. The man measured Garchomp evenly before kneeling to perform the same magic he did to Cynthia._

_The pain ceased to exist in no time, and yet something still bothered her._

_"Does he feel pain at all?" Garchomp muttered._

_Crobat's eyes narrowed. "Oh, for—" She got in front of his face. He scowled and tried to bat her away. "Hey! Look at yourself for once! You're losing a lot of blood too!" She pointed angrily to his vibrating hand—the hand that Garchomp had bitten. Indeed, blood was seeping from where the skin had split to reveal the shy appearance of bone._

"Ah." _The man's voice was very faint._

_"Stay with me, Cyrus!" Crobat rushed to his pack and returned with the gauze. The man's eyelids were fluttering nonstop. She bashed his chin. He numbly accepted her gift, wiping off the oozing blood on his vest before ripping an ample amount of gauze for his wrist._

He's shaking too much. _Garchomp swallowed the dry lump in her throat._ He looks like he's about to faint any second now…

_Garchomp squeezed his good arm. The man flinched. She simply held his glassy gaze until his brows shot to his hairline. "Stay strong," the land dragon said._

_Crobat was watching with unreadable eyes. Her Trainer stared at Garchomp for a bit more before he turned to tear another portion of shirt for his wound. His hand jerked on its own. He released a loud, pained hiss._

_"You should be proud of yourself," Crobat mumbled to the land dragon. "It's only a few bones. Some ruptured veins. A little charred flesh. Nothing too noteworthy."_

_Her words were like a slap to Garchomp's face. She swallowed the bitter tang down her throat and lowered her head from Crobat's unflinching glare._

_Then the man exhaled._ "Garchomp," _he said. It's suddenly very difficult to meet his eyes._ "Where are her other Pokemon?"

_"I don't know," she murmured, as if he could understand. "They might've fallen somewhere. Who knows? They could be anywhere by now..."_

_A silence._ "Garchomp." _She jumped._ "What happened?" _Everything about him—his voice, his expression, his eyes—froze Garchomp in place. He would not take "I don't know" for an answer._

_Then Garchomp attempted to communicate. The man listened intently to her grunts, growls, and gestures. Crobat cycled through various stages of shock at Garchomp's story._

Why are they so interested in my tale? Aren't they my enemies? Why are they so insistent on Cynthia's condition… as if they actually cared…?

_"Oh…" was all Crobat could say after Garchomp finished._

 _The man's face was dark. A storm was brewing behind his crackling mask. He stood and cast his gaze to the ambiguous skies._ "So she fell. From up there?" _He crossed to retrieve a notepad from his bag and began scribbling._ "Can't you go for a day without messing up?" _he muttered softly when the pencil would break, which it often did._

 _Then he laid some tape on the ground around the crime scene._ "Her wound is consistent with physical trauma from a sharp object, presumably that rock over there… and judging from the angle of impact, she had most likely fell from a great height…"

 _His eyes were dim as his brows scrunched in concentration._ "However… there are traces of a Pokemon attack on her body… It must've been a strong wild Pokemon to have inflicted such—"

_"No!" Garchomp barked. He jolted and stared at her with a frown._

"Two Pokemon then?" _he said after a watching Garchomp's gestures._

_"Yes! And it wasn't a wild Pokemon either!"_

_The man is glaring at the land dragon. He shifted his attention to the shimmering white residue around Cynthia's head. There's also another shifting glob of light near her wrists._

"That type of attack…" _The realization dawned on his face as a twisted snarl._ "She was attacked by someone… From up there."

_Crobat gasped. Garchomp nodded solemnly._

"Who hurt her?" _His voice was sharp enough to cut through the dense miasma. Garchomp sputtered the answer. The blizzard only grew colder._

_But Crobat understood. "Wait." She waved her wings. "But isn't that the Champion's friend?"_

_"Yes, but it's like something else was talking." Garchomp recalled the uncanny events with terrifying clarity. "Kept saying something about time stopping and Dialga until Uxie came."_

_"U-Uxie?" Crobat sputtered in disbelief. "So he really exists? A-and Dialga?! The Guardian of Time?" Her voice was rising. "Wait, wait, wait! Are you telling me that these myths are actually real?"_

_"I don't know," Garchomp answered, and she hated that flimsy truth._

_The man was silent. He stared at Cynthia's sleeping face, and for once, Garchomp just let him be. He slowly shifted his gaze to the Pokemon. There's a strange expression on his face._

_"I can't leave her like this," the man whispered almost to himself. He looked at Crobat as if praying she could provide a reason to otherwise. There's something almost desperate in his eyes._

_"No, you can't," she said softly, nipping at his ear. "We owe her a lot."_

_Something about Crobat's words bothered Garchomp, but the latter was too preoccupied with Cynthia's condition to press further._

_Cynthia's moan immediately brought the man's attention back to earth. His hands immediately flew to his chest, as if there's something wrong with his lungs. After painfully mulling something over in his mind, Cynthia's enemy carefully scooped his nemesis into his arms. He gasped when his injured hand buckled under her weight._

"It's fine," _he growled through gritted teeth when Crobat rushed forward. Small beads of sweat dot his forehead._ "I'm okay."

_"Are you really?" The man instinctively flinched when Garchomp approached him. Crobat started forward… and stopped. The land dragon slowly raised her head to his incredulous stare. No one broke eye contact. Words simply failed her._

_Silence. Then Crobat turned back to her Trainer. "No, you're not okay! Look at it! It's bleed—" She's silenced by a glare. The man took a few uneasy steps before carefully draping Cynthia on his back instead._

"Come, you two," _the man grunted when he opened his eyes._

_"Oh, you stupid, foolish boy," Crobat murmured but nevertheless fluttered to his side. Garchomp wordlessly shuffled behind his shadow. " Why are you always like this, Cyrus? You haven't recovered from those burns yet! I swear, if you're going to faint again, I—"_

"Do you know the way back, Crobat?" _the man said._

_Crobat clicked her teeth. "Of course I do." She took the lead. The man cast a side glance at Garchomp. For some reason, she couldn't look at him in the same way anymore._

"As soon as the Champion regains consciousness, I'll send her home," _he assured Garchomp. Crobat grumbled something under her breath._ "She still lives at Celestic Town, yes? Perhaps her Grandmother will let her friends at the League know she's safe. I have no intention of harming her, Garchomp. You have my word."

_Garchomp just nodded. She stayed close to his side as the group maneuvered through the dense fog. Sometimes he would slow down. Sometimes he'd stopped altogether but quickly dismissed it when Garchomp looked back at him. All the while Crobat watched with unreadable eyes._

_"Okay! We're out of the forest!" The scent of salty air greets Garchomp as the party spill out to the Craggy Coast. The setting sun was a ball of red in the painted skies. Crobat peered into her Trainer's face with a frown. "Let's rest now, Cyrus."_

_The man clumsily fumbled for a Poke Ball. A giant crow appeared in a rain of black feathers._

_"Oh no," Crobat sighed._

_Honchkrow's beak curved into a smirk. "'Tis a fancy to see you again, my lady." He bowed. Then he noticed the gaping land dragon besides her. "Oh? If it isn't the fool who got her tail handed to her at Celestic Town. Not a very graceful loser, I see."_

_"I'm in the mood for roasted duck." Garchomp snapped her jaw loudly._

_"Oooh. I am shivering in my feathers." Honchkrow's smirk faded when he saw his Trainer. "Lad? What's the matter? Did your injuries reopen?"_

"Enough." _The man pressed a hand to his forehead and shook his head. He exhaled carefully. "_ We… we will Fly back to Headquarters."

_"But aren't those your enemies, Cyrus?" Honchkrow perched on his shoulder, his beak set in a tight line as he stared into the man's face. The bird's red eyes flickered to the injured woman and her leering Garchomp. Honchkrow turned to Crobat before returning a glare to the land dragon._

_"What do you hope to accomplish by inconveniencing him?" Honchkrow's eyes glistened coldly. "Ah, yes. You want revenge, don't you? For what happened at Celestic Town?"_

_"Krow," Crobat hissed._

_"You should be proud of yourself." Honchkrow leaned forward with a cruel sneer. "You think any human can survive such a barbaric attack like that Draco Meteor of yours? Well, congratulations, my dear foe. The lad was unresponsive for three days. I've never seen such horrifying burns—"_

_"KROW!" Crobat slapped his face with her wing. The crow stared at her in disbelief. She clicked her teeth. "The boy needs your help. Clam up and help him!"_

_The man stumbled to his Pokemon. He draped his enemy onto the crow's giant back, careful not to use his wounded hand._

_"Wha—This is absurd! Ludicrous!" Honchkrow growled. "She doesn't deserve to be on my back! Cyrus, take her off right now!"_

_The man cleared his throat, and the crow meekly lowered his head._

"Garchomp." _The man offered a hesitant hand. He's trembling again._ _His Pokemon's eyes bore holes into her back._

_"Okay." The land dragon allowed the man to help her up Honchkrow's back, much to the latter's chagrin._

_"What is this?" Honckrow murmured. "Some twisted ploy of fate?"_

_The man ruffled the bird's crown._ "I place my faith in you, Honchkrow. Our utmost priority is ensuring the safety of the Champion and her Garchomp. Can I entrust you with that?"

_"Of course, lad!" Honchkrow sniffed the air with a haughty chuckle. His companion sighed again. The man risked one last glance back at the Foggy Forest before climbing on Crobat._

"Take us home, to Veilstone."

_The Pokemon took to the skies. Foggy Forest faded into a speck of white below, where the mist appeared to be spreading by the second._ _The man kept his Pokemon close as they soared over the seaside bluffs._

_"You should rest now, Garchomp," Crobat said softly. Garchomp snuggled closer to her Trainer. She put her head against Cynthia's rising chest and listened to her beating heart._

_"Just what is that fog?" Honchkrow was saying. "It's not natural, I'll give you that. Even my Defog failed to dent it."_

_"We can talk about that later, Krow," Crobat murmured. "They're both tired. We need to give them proper treatment back at Veilstone."_

_"Crobat?" Both Flying-type Pokemon turned back to Garchomp with wide eyes. Even the man noticed this with a raised brow._

_"Y-Yes, Garchomp?"_

_Garchomp raised her head. "Why did you help me? We're enemies, and yet…"_

_Crobat exchanged a glance with her companion. "I already told you," she said with cold finality._

_Garchomp was silent before she opened her mouth again. "Crobat. Honchkrow. Have we… met before?"_

_Another shared glance. "You mean when our lad beat you at Celestic Town?" Honchkrow grunted._

_"N-no. Not there. Before that." Their eyes never left Garchomp's face. "I get the strangest feeling we've met before, long ago. Back when I was a Gible."_

_A long silence. "Memories can be deceiving," Honchkrow murmured softly. His voice was almost drowned by the sound of flapping wings. "What you've seen as a Gible might be distorting your memories of the present. It doesn't help that you're delirious too."_

_"Krow's right," Crobat added with a small smile. "All Zubats look alike. And besides, my Trainer is your Trainer's enemy. It doesn't make sense for us to have been something other than that."_

_Garchomp shook her head. "Are you sure? Because when I was watching him dress her wounds, I felt—"_

_"You've lost a lot of blood," Crobat said in a low hiss. "These things happen when you lose blood. You start hallucinating and seeing stuff that isn't there."_

_Honchkrow shifted so that Garchomp fell onto his feathery back. "Just rest. We'll be at Headquarters soon."_

_The lull of sleep sounded fantastic right now. "Okay." Garchomp buried her head into the crow's silky down. She stared at Cynthia's sleeping face and squeezed her hand._

_"I'm sorry," she said. The two Flying-type gasped, but no one replied. Instead, they insisted she get some damn sleep before ignoring her entirely to focus on the task at hand._

_The man had been watching this interaction with a slight frown. And as fatigue caught up to Garchomp, she'd noticed Cynthia's enemy often glancing her way. His gaze would linger on Cynthia's face for a second too long before abruptly turning away._

_When he did break the silence, his voice was… different. Gone was the monotone, the indifference. Instead, there was something very familiar in that distress, that frustration, that slight panic rising into his otherwise stoic mask._

"You'll be all right, Cynthia," _he would mutter ever so softly, as if he's reassuring himself. Crobat and Honchkrow exchanged a silent glance._ "You're the strongest person I know. You'll make a full recovery and forget this ever happened."

_And as sleep passed an intangible hand before Garchomp's eyes, she vaguely remembered something else the man said. A different name. A voice as soft as lapping waves on a sunlit beach._

"... be okay… Sh…ona…"


	20. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much is happening. It may be too late... or it might not be. Cynthia decides she needs a damn break and gets a much-needed pep talk.

_"Akagi!"_

_The boy jumped. He whirled around with an expression of utmost shock on his face._

_"C-Cynthia?"_

_The girl grinned. She hopped down on the sand beside him and leaned closer. "What are you building now, Akagi?"_

_He blinked. She passed a hand through his nonresponsive eyes. "Earth to Akagi. What's the matter? You look a little… out of it today."_

_"It's nothing," he muttered after a silence. "I am fine."_

_"Really?" She peered into his face before he could shield himself with his sleeves._ Nope. Something's definitely going on with him _. "What's the matter?" Then she scowled. "Did those bullies come back?"_

_"N-No, Cynthia. It's nothing… really." He hugged his knees closer, all while refusing to make eye contact. His fingers fidgeted with the little contraption on the sand—its function still unknown to the girl._

_"Do you… not like it when I call you 'Akagi?'"_

_His head snapped up. "No!" He then scowled as if disgusted with himself. "Yes! I-I mean… I don't mind it when you call me 'Akagi.' I think it's a neat name, Cynthia. I really do."_

_"It's better than those other names," he added softly, out of her earshot._

_Cynthia pursed her lips. She scooted closer to him, and he didn't move away. In all the years they've playing together, his presence had become a commodity. Every summer, she'd immediately gravitated to the beach in hopes of seeing this boy again… this strange, kind boy that was all too wise for his age._

_And he always waited for her._

_Akagi had lapsed into silence. His head is turned away, but his hands were trembling. She knew. She knew that he's extremely upset about something that's out of his control._

_"Akagi." He turned to show a marginal glimpse of blue eye. "You always listened when I told you my problems… and you never tried to force advice on me. I really appreciated that._

_"But you never tell me anything, Akagi. It's always 'It's nothing' or "I'm fine, Cynthia.' You're always holding it in… and I know it's making you sad. I feel bad for not being able to help you, especially given how much you've helped me."_

_Akagi frowned. "I've… helped you?" he echoed, as if it's a foreign phrase. Then he shook his head. "I can take care of myself, Cynthia. That's nothing new. I know what's best for me, and I know that I'm all right." This was stated with an almost desperate plea at conviction._

_"I'm all right, Cynthia," he repeated, not necessarily to her._

I know you're not. _"B-But I want to help…"_

_"You don't have to concern yourself with me," he stated with such a cold finality that she visibly flinched. He saw this and silently cursed himself again._

_Then he dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, Cynthia." The boy inhaled deeply and looked up. "Thank you for caring. Really. I truly appreciate that."_

_Cynthia had been staring at him with gaping jaw. She realized that he was done speaking and rubbed her eyes. He watched her fumble for words with a sad little smile._

_"A-Akagi?"_

_"Yes, Shirona?" Just hearing him say her explorer name sent a strange warmth to her fingers._

_"Um… are your Pokemon here?"_

_A shadow passed through his face. "Of course," he replied in a strained voice. He lifted his arm, and Murkrow limped into view._

_"Oh, Akagi… What happened?" There's a roll of bandage around the crow's wing._

_The boy gently scooped the bird into his arms. His Zubat emerged from his fluffy hair and peeked at the surprised girl. "It's not safe for them there," he murmured as his trembling hands held Murkrow's belly. "It's all my fault, Cynthia. I thought it would it all right to sneak them some food, but…" His lips bristled. "I was careless. I should've known better…" His voice dropped to a low hiss. "Why are you so stupid…?"_

_"Akagi?" she whispered._

_He slowly raised his head. His smile failed to reach his eyes, but it managed to wound Cynthia's heart. "I digress. I'll find a way… I'll think of something."_

_Cynthia watched in silence as he stroked Murkrow's down. The crow buried its head into his chest. Zubat nipped at his ear._

_Her gaze shifted to the gizmo on the sand. Upon closer inspection, the contraption was just a mess of wires jammed together by rage and pent-up anger. She caught the space-themed bandages on his fingers… those fresh, crisp bandages._

_"How is your Gible?" Akagi said pleasantly, jarring her attention from the redness on his knuckles._

_"S-She's fine…" Cynthia almost dropped her Poke ball. The petite land shark bounced onto the sand with an eager grin. His Pokemon greeted the shark jubilantly._

_"Your Gible is the picture of health." There's a slight bitterness in his tone as he tightened Murkrow's bandages. Gible ambled to the boy and poked his knee, giggling. Akagi's expression softened. He laid a hesitant hand on the shark's head. "Your Trainer is very competent," he told the Pokemon. "She's not stupid, unlike me."_

_"Akagi." Cynthia's about to slap him, but she settled for a vicious jab to the side instead. He yelled and doubled over in pain, much to their Pokemon's shocks._

_"OW!" Akagi's eyes were wide and very bright. "Why… Did I say something upsetting?"_

_"I don't like it when you talk like that, Akagi." Cynthia steadied a hand over her pounding chest. She bit her lips to keep her chin from quivering. "Whenever you act like that, I get scared. It's like you're locking yourself away into a dark, scary place… and I can't even reach you. You're acting as if you don't matter at all."_

_The boy's expression hardened. His similar rant from what seemed like a long time ago still echoed in her ears. Cynthia forced herself to be strong and continued, "But I know you're very kind. You're very intelligent and determined—"_

_"I never do anything right," he growled. She winced from his icy words._ Someone as young as him shouldn't be saying those things. _They're about the same age, but sometimes Cynthia wouldn't understand all of his implications. She couldn't. It's just like that time, when he told her to go away for her own good. All those things he accused himself of being while tears threatened to fall…_

_Words do hurt, even if she's not on the receiving end._

_A blizzard was brewing on his pale face. The fear of him completely closing himself off was slowly approaching reality. She whispered his true name with all its implications and emotions. The storm immediately faltered, but some dark clouds still remained._

_"I'm sorry, Cynthia," he said with a gentle, pained chuckle. "You're right. I shouldn't be saying all that. You… you're only here for the summer…" He retrieved his Pokemon and stood, stumbling a bit before regaining his ground. "Let's not waste any more of your time now, shall we?"_

_She grabbed his hand, feeling his callouses grating on her soft skin. He stiffened and attempted to yank it back, panic bubbling to his eyes when her iron clamp proved to be a formidable foe._

_She repeated his true name, slowly and purposefully, as she tried to ward off the darkness in his heart._

_"What are you doing?" he whispered when she dragged him outside the cave. The sun was sitting in the midst of a painted sky. The Krabby had come out to blow bubbles as evening neared._

_"Cynthia? Please let go of my hand."_

_She ignored him. Cynthia lead the boy and his curious Pokemon to the surf but never trespassed upon the waters. Then she turned to match his face, now seeped in the colors of the setting sun._

_"Don't talk," she said. "Please." His lips tightened, but he nodded._

_The waves crashed into the shore. Cynthia turned and spoke. "Whenever I'm in a bad mood, you always brought me here to see the bubbles." She made sure to hold eye contact the entire time. "How many summers has it been? You know a lot about me, Akagi… and yet, there's still a lot of things I don't know about you._

_"But it's okay. You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to. Just know that I'll always be here for you… whether you need a shoulder to lean on, or you just need someone to be there." She squeezed his hand. He regarded her carefully with those shielded eyes, dissecting her words for ulterior motives._

_A silence stretched between the children. The Wingulls chirped overhead. The waves lapped gently on the sparkling sands. Murkrow ruffled its feathers. Zubat pecked Gible's head with its wing and grinned._

_"Thank you." She almost didn't hear him the first time. But his eyes were shining, and that smile was just as warm as the sun itself. It made her heart bounce a bit, a fluttering sensation in her chest._

_"I'm so grateful."_

_"Huh? You're what, Akagi?"_

_A soft laugh. Her heart leapt again. "It's nothing, Shirona. I was just talking to myself."_

_Cynthia blinked before returning his smile. "Okay." A thought crossed her mind as a multicolored bubble passed between the two of them. "Hey, Akagi. Do you want to come over sometime?"_

_Akaig tilted his head. "I'm sorry?"_

_"Do you want to come over to my house? Well, it's not really mine… We rented it for the summer." His brows furrowed. "I want to introduce you to my mom and dad. I told them a lot about you, and I think it's finally time they see your face!"_

_"Your… mother and father?" Something caught in his voice. It's something that failed to register in her naive brain, but her heart twitched at his tone._

_"Yup!"_ Why are his hands trembling? Is he cold? _"Don't worry. They're really nice! I promise!"_

_Akagi's mouth moved, but no words came out. Something wasn't right here. "R-Really? I-I see…" His gaze flickered to Murkrow before converging back on the cave of her chin. "It's quite late now, Cynthia. Perhaps some other time."_

_"Sure!" Gible nuzzled her leg. Zubat fluttered back to the boy's shoulder. "Hey, can I also meet your parents someday?"_

_A strangled gasp escaped his throat. At that time, the girl didn't understand the shadow that gripped the boy's heart. She didn't understand why his shoulders tensed, or why his body temperature suddenly plummeted down to zero._

_And his hands were shaking again._

_"Akagi?" She also said his true name._

_Zubat hissed. Murkrow bashed his chin with its good wing while Gible watched in confusion. Akagi stiffened._

_She repeated his name._

_"My grandfather!" he blurted. Akagi pulled—yanked—his hand back and rubbed his eyes. He looked up with a faint smile that wasn't a smile at all. "If…If you want, Cynthia… I can take you to see Grandfather. I've also told him much about you, and he's always wanted to meet you in person as well…"_

_He pressed his face into his palms. Zubat and Murkrow formed a partition between the two children. When he finally recomposed himself, the boy peered through the curtains to his oblivious, waiting friend._

_"Grandfather makes the best chicken soup and gateau," he added with a warmer smile._

_"That sounds good!" Cynthia laughed. Relief washed through his face. "You must be close to him."_

_Akagi absorbed those words with parted lips. "I… I suppose." Then that soft, tinkling sound slipped from his throat. "He's the one who noted the etymology behind my name. He was the one who opened up the world of space and mythology to me."_

_"Wow! Just like my grandma!" A Shellos had been watching the two children talk. She picked up the happy Pokemon and held it up so it can kiss his forehead. Akagi flinched. Shellos grinned and did it again._

_"Cynthia!" he yelped, much to everyone's amusement. She set the Shellos back on the sand. He's blinking nonstop as if he's short-circuiting._

_"It's not over yet!" Cynthia wrapped her arms around the flustered boy. He stiffened like a plank. Cynthia grinned and pressed her face into his shirt._

_The erratic pounding of his heart matched her own._

_"C-C-Cynthia?" His voice was very small and high-pitched._

_"You're so cold, Akagi." He had the distinctive smell of rusty metal and old books. Like a walking library._ Did it get warmer in here? _She's vaguely aware of Gible, Murkrow, and Zubat's presence on their shoulders. "Let me warm you up."_

_"T-That's not…" A great, lengthy pause. Then a faint sigh escaped his lips. His shoulders loosened. "All right," he mumbled, his eyes on the sand. "If you insist. Thank you, Cynthia."_

_She smiled and held him tight. The waters splashed gently with the balmy summer breeze. Colorful bubbles hovered about the watercolor skies. The Pokemon pressed their heads against the children, their hearts vibrating faintly in their chests. The girl noticed the boy's hands hovering over her shoulders, but he yanked them back before he intruded her space._

_"I'll tell Grandfather to expect you," Akagi murmured, his voice as soft as the gentle beach wind. "He'll go out of his way to welcome you, that's for sure. I'll make sure to let him know about your dairy allergy." He shook his head to her expectant eyes. "But not today. It's quite late. You should go home."_

_"Okay." She released him but still held onto his hand. "See you tomorrow, Akagi. You too, Zubat and Murkrow. Say bye, Gible!"_

_Akagi nodded, his lips tugging upwards. Cynthia flashed a radiant smile and picked Gible into her arms._

_She's not even back on the beachfront when she heard footsteps. She turned to see the boy with his Pokemon running up to her._

_Cynthia uttered his real name in awe._

_"Please allow me to accompany you back to your house." His face reddened. "I-I mean, I'll walk you back… No, disregard that. What I meant to say was… I… ah…"_

_Akagi turned back with his face in his palms. Zubat and Murkrow whispered encouraging words. Then he swiveled back to the waiting girl with a renewed passion._

_"It can be dangerous after dark," he boldly announced. His Pokemon clapped. Gible nodded thoughtfully. "At least allow me to walk you to your street."_

_Cynthia blinked. "But what about you? Won't your parents—"_

_"I'll be fine." Akagi straightened and waved for her to go first. "I know my way back." He remained at her side as they walked down the lit streets of Sunyshore. The boy was close but never touched. The children lapsed into a comfortable silence as pedestrians passed them smiles and giddy praises._

_"How cute," Cynthia heard someone say._

_"I hope to install solar panels someday." Cynthia turned to the boy who had just spoken. Akagi immediately dropped his gaze. "Oh. S-Sorry. Forget that—"_

_"That's amazing!" She beamed. He looked up with a timid smile and flushed ears. "You're good at building things, right? I can totally see that happening!"_

_Akagi listened. Then he laughed, and her heart burst into song. "T-Thank you, Shirona. The city has an ample supply of sunshine after all… this place bathed in sunlight. It would be a waste to not put all that energy into good use."_

_"Maybe you'll grow up to be a master engineer, Akagi!"_

_He gave it some thought. "I am considering between electrical and civil engineering… but most of all, I want to be able to change the world somehow. To make a positive difference in people's lives…" The boy stared at her for the longest time before his cheeks burned, and he turned away. "You can laugh, if you want."_

_"No!" Cynthia put her hands on her hips. "I think it's really, really great! We're heading towards the same goal in that we both want to make a good difference in people's lives! Let's work together then, to make the world a better place!"_

_Akagi smiled. "You… wanted to become Champion of Sinnoh, right?"_

_"Yup! And I'm going to work hard! I won't lose to anyone!"_

_Akagi's eyes crinkled. Gible poked his leg with a giggle, earning it a pat on the head. "I am certain your dreams will become reality, Shirona. You're the strongest person I know. Even if you'll encounter obstacles, know that there's at least one person out there rooting for your success."_

_"Oh? Who?"_

_The boy blinked, as if he'd caught himself saying something scandalous. Then he immediately turned away, but not before she caught the red glow all over his face. "Ah… Never mind, Cynthia," he muttered with what sounded like defeat._

_"What's wrong with me lately?" She heard him whisper as his hands clutched his chest._

_They've reached her street, but Cynthia insisted he walked her to the house. Once outside the gates, she rang the doorbell and turned._

_"You've changed, Akagi."_

_The boy frowned, awaiting specification. She giggled. "I've never seen you talk about your dreams like that. I've never seen you laugh or smile as much as now." She squeezed his warm hands. "You just seem so much happier nowadays… It's like the sun finally came out after a storm. You have no idea how happy I am to see that."_

_He's so silent that it began to worry her. Then his lips parted ever so slightly. "It's all thanks to you."_

_"Huh? What do you—"_

_"Cynthia?" The door opened. She pulled away and bounced to her mom, who enveloped her daughter into a tight hug. "You've been coming home so late nowadays! Do you know how worried we were, young lady?"_

_"It's okay, Mom! Gible's with me! Oh!" The girl pointed to the boy outside the gates. "That's the boy I was telling you about! He walked me home!"_

_Her mom gave the child a thorough examination with her eyes. "Is that so?" She smiled. Akagi recoiled ever so slightly, but he looked more confused than anything. "Thank you, dear. Do you want to come in for a while?"_

_It took him a while to find his voice. "N-No, thank you, ma'am."_ Why is he so stiff? _Zubat and Murkrow peeked from behind the safety of his shoulders. The three of them never got closer, despite Gible's welcoming invitation._

_"Akagi!" Cynthia said._

_"You name is Akagi?" her mom said._

_"No, Mom. His name's—"_

_"I have to go back." Akagi gave a hard bow. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." He glanced at the girl. "And Cynthia. Have a pleasant night."_

_"Good-bye, Akagi. Be safe, okay?" Her mom waved. He stared at her. Cynthia called his true name. The light flickered into his dim eyes, and his lips tugged into that smile that warmed her bosom._

_After the boy and his Pokemon left, Cynthia's mom turned to her daughter. "He's such a sweet boy, Cynthia. Tell him he doesn’t need to be so formal. Are you coming back to play with him tomorrow?"_

_"Yes! And every day before summer ends! We're going to explore Waterfall Cave!"_

_Her mom chuckled and hugged Cynthia again. "We should invite him into the house sometime. He looks like he could use a nice, warm, home-cooked meal._

_"What did you say his name was again?"_

_Cynthia grinned. "The sun! His name is Cy…"_

* * *

…

"Cy…"

"…a…"

"Cynthia!"

The world flashes into focus. Cynthia blinks the moisture from her eyes and sits up. She recoils from the harsh lights. The sound of rushing water tickles her ears. The faint smell of mist nags at her memory.

"Cynthia!" Rowan's bushy face. Rowan's resting frown.

"Cynthia?" Dia's wide, grey eyes.

_"Shirona."_ Uxie's telepathic voice is soft like a laughter from that balmy night.

A Pokemon nudges her hand. Cynthia rubs her eyes again. "Gible?" she whispers.

The land dragon's mouth drops. Cynthia frowns and shakes her head. "No, wait. You're not…" She peers into its golden eyes. "Where's Akagi?"

Garchomp's jaw drops.

"Who?" Rowan grunts, glancing around.

Then all sense returns to Cynthia like a hammer to the skull. She scrambles to her feet. Her heart is sprinting a marathon in her body. She whips her head around Fogbound Lake for any lingering trace of that childhood memory.

She can still feel the heat on her face.

Garchomp whimpers. She stares at the land dragon and instantly flings her arms around its strong neck.

"You saved me," she gasps. Garchomp gently strokes her face. "Oh Arceus, you saved my life, Garchomp…"

Uxie hovers to her side. _"You remembered, Cynthia."_

Cynthia straightens. "Yes," she states firmly to everyone in the vicinity. "I remembered everything."

* * *

Rowan has to manually untangle his brow at the end of her story. "So…" he begins. "You suspected of the Time Gears' existence, and you followed that hunch here. To Foggy Forest. To Fogbound Lake. And that's when Uxie erased your memory."

"Yes…"

Dia bites his lips and shifts his attention to land dragon. "And you fell… and Garchomp saved your life. But it wasn't just Garchomp, was it?"

"No…" Cynthia grips her chest. That bitter taste is returning. Everything is returning, both pleasant and unpleasant.

"I don't understand." Rowan's brow is scrunched, but he had lost much of his earlier animosity. "So he wasn't responsible for your memory loss?" He puts a finger to his beard and continues in a low murmur. "But if that's the case, then what else isn't the truth..?"

_"Why did you lie?"_ Cynthia had demanded, long, long ago when that linoleum table was the only distance between them.

_"Because you're my enemy, Hero."_ That sneer was cruel and empty. _"Of course I lied. What more did you expect from a pathological liar?"_

But _that_ was completely different from what Garchomp saw. That panic seeping from the cracks in his mask, clear and unmistakable through the dense fog. His careful handling of her body, despite the bone peeking from his flesh. The almost desperate look in his eyes when he begged Crobat for a reason not to save her.

_"You'll make a full recovery,"_ he'd said with all the sincerity in the world as the Pokemon flew back to Veilstone. _"You're the strongest, bravest person I know…"_

And when she finally opened her eyes, he was there, waiting for her. 

Cynthia grips her head before her brain can gush out of her ears. Before her heart can implode.

Uxie has been watching with a strange expression on its face. _"Cynthia?"_ She jumps. _"You came here to locate a Time Gear, correct?"_

"Y-Yes. I suspected it had something to do with time's going out of whack."

Rowan lifts a heavy eyebrow. "Speaking of which…" He turns to the Guardian of Knowledge. "Uxie, do you happen to know of this phenomenon? How is it possible for time to completely freeze like this…?"

Uxie brushes its tails against the watery surface. It steals a glance at the shimmering emerald fountain before speaking. _"You are all aware of a Pokemon named Dialga, correct?"_

"There's a statue in Eterna City," Dia says. _"Dialga, the Giver of Time."_

_"Correct, boy. In our world, in the Pokemon world, Dialga is the God of Time. He reigns over the flow of time in the world, ensuring that it never be disrupted. The Time Gears were created to safeguard his powers in case something goes awry…"_

_So Dialga isn't just a myth…_

Uxie lowers its head. _"I have never stepped outside the boundaries of Fogbound Lake. My sole purpose was to guard this Time Gear, after all. But… if what you said is true… that time has indeed stopped despite the Time Gears' presence… The incident at Mystifying Forest…"_ The Guardian trails into a dark, disturbing thought.

"Will the planet eventually grind to a halt?" Everyone stops and stares at the woman who had just spoken. Fear weighs in the air, heavy and foreboding like blood mist.

"W-What did you say, Cynthia?" Rowan gasps. Dia covers his mouth. Cynthia simply looks at them without a break in her mask.

_"That's…"_ Uxie hovers closer to Cynthia, as if acknowledging her presence for the first time. _"How did you… What makes you say that?"_

Cynthia straightens. She ignores the chill that's growing in her bosom. "Cyrus told me. He told me that the Time Gears themselves aren't broken. Something else is. That's why time is slipping around the world."

Her words ring in the horrifying silence that follows. Dia's face is green. Rowan's resting frown is nowhere to be seen. Garchomp grunts and edges closer to Cynthia's leg.

Then Uxie speaks, but it's not at all what Cynthia expected it to say. _"Cyrus?"_

"Y-Yes." Why does her voice catch at his name? "He's my—"

And she stops cold. That little girl from days bygone stares up with glassy eyes. The words that should've been associated with his name refuses to come out of her throat. The words everyone in the world knows to be true about the madman who attempted to stop time and failed.

"It's not important," the woman says.

_"Yes, it is!"_ the girl sputters. _"Now who's the liar around here?!"_

Rowan clears his throat, much to her relief. The Professor glances around the lake and spreads his hands. "Something you said still bother me, Cynthia. You said there was another person that attacked you at Fogbound Lake… but that person was…"

The chill spreads to her heart. "Yes… I've also had the pleasure of meeting the second accomplice at Victory Road."

_"Dialga's minion,"_ Uxie whispers with wavering voice. _"You were attacked by someone claiming to be brainwashed puppet of the God of Time."_

"Yes," Cynthia says with absolute certainty. "You were right, Uxie. That person was there with me at Crystal Cave. Now it all makes sense…"

Dia looks up from his palms. "But where will you go now, Cynthia? It's too dangerous to return to the Sinnoh League, especially with…"

Cynthia answers him with silence. Garchomp growls at something in the air.

A cold breeze brushes her hair. Cynthia pulls her coat closer. The White Moonstone pulsates gently in her pockets, a welcoming warmth in this suddenly hostile world.

_"I will confer with the other Guardians,"_ Uxie says. _"We need to confirm our theory before any plan of action can be made. I have an assumption, but pray it not be as what I think._

_"And you four."_ Uxie nods to the group of humans and Garchomp. _"Do not lost hope. While we three work towards the truth, you three do what it is that you must do."_

_What it is that I must do…_ Cynthia stares at her hands. She stares at Garchomp, as if expecting it to break into speech any time now. The land dragon returns a solemn nod, affirming her next plan of action.

"I need to go back," Cynthia mutters. Rowan and Dia nod. Uxie bows. The party summons their Flying-type Pokemon and prepare to board.

"It's still daytime," Rowan says, looking at his watch. That's still hard to believe, seeing that the skies of Fogbound Lake are always dark and speckled with stars.

Dia looks down from his Staraptor. "Will we see you again, Uxie?"

Uxie's mouth tugs. _"Perhaps. I have developed a liking towards the four of you. I will let you keep your memories of this place… if you will keep quiet of what you have seen."_

"You have my word, Uxie," Rowan says firmly. _He seems to have ditched his brief dream of archaeological fame._ Cynthia snorts softly at her observation. No wonder she's much more comfortable in his and Dia's company.

_"Thank you."_ Then Uxie's mouth widens. _"Ah, yes. Shirona."_

"Y-Yes?"

_"You mentioned a name when you awoke."_

Cynthia blinks. "I did?"

_"'Akagi.'"_ Something tugs within the foggy recesses of memory. A sliver of sunlight breaks through the night sky.

"Oh. Yes." _Akagi… my childhood friend. I finally remembered his name._ "He's my friend from long ago. Why do you ask, Uxie?"

Uxie is still staring straight at her through closed eyelids. Its jewel catches in the lake's illumination. _"'Akagi, the Red Sun,'"_ the Guardian whispers with awe. Garchomp locks eyes with the pixie. _"What a tragic story… wouldn't you agree, Garchomp?"_

Cynthia turns to her Pokemon. "Um… what do you mean, Uxie?"

_"I digress, Cynthia."_ Uxie gives the group a wave. _"I shall be here, in case you decide to return. In the meanwhile, I shall let Mesprit and Azelf know of these developments. Be safe, friends."_ The Pokemon turns to Cynthia. _"And may your reunion be a cherished one."_

Cynthia gapes. "What…?"

_"Hehe… Safe travels, Cynthia, Rowan, Dia, and Garchomp."_

The party begins to ascend to the starlit skies. Foggy Forest looms below the plateau, the ground now bright and visible under the harsh sunlight.

Before Cynthia bids Uxie farewell, a fleeting thought catches her mind. "Uxie?"

_"Yes, Shirona?"_

"Was that all the memories you took from me?"

_"Yes."_ Uxie tilts its head. _"Are you still missing something?"_

Everyone's staring at Cynthia now. She grips Togekiss's fur. "My childhood memories are still blurry."

Uxie's tails skim against the watery surface, leaving graceful tendrils of light in their wake. _"Ah. Well, I should explain further. I erase only memories of Fogbound Lake… I cannot fully erase all memories from living beings._

_"That being said, your missing childhood memories are not my doing, but yours. Those memories are purposefully locked away because you yourself refuse to accept the truth."_

* * *

Cynthia drops Dia and Rowan back at his lab in Sandgem Town. They insist on accompanying her, but she refuses.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I know you're worried about me, but I have to do this alone."

Rowan sizes her with a hard look. Cynthia swallows the dry lump in her throat. "Please don't tell anyone about what happened at Fogbound Lake. I… I need time to think before I go raising any alarms."

Rowan's shoulders rise as he exhales. "All right." He still doesn't sound convinced. "But let us know immediately if something goes awry."

"Sure. Thank you, Professor."

Dia cups his hands around his mouth. "Please, please be careful, Cynthia. I don't want you to get hurt again."

"Heh. I am the damn Champion of Sinnoh, Dia." She flashes the two of them a grin. "It'll take more than that to bring me down."

Cynthia waves to her friends as Togekiss once again takes to the skies. The Professor and the boy's figures eventually fade into the rain-muddled distance. Cynthia keeps a tight hold around Togekiss's neck while they zoom over the seas.

Just the mere thought of seeing him again sends her heart into an erratic dance. And yet, it's a somewhat nostalgic sensation. A warm, buttery tingle accompanied by cold, bitter shame.

"Cyrus, you owe me some damn answers," she mutters to the air. Togekiss steals a wary glance at its Trainer. The compound is just beyond those hills.

_And I owe you a long-overdue apology._

* * *

_Something's not right._

It hits her before Togekiss even reaches the barbed walls. It's this uncanny feeling of a cold stone in her stomach, of her hair rising on end, of an unseen chill worming its way to her spine. The Pokemon senses her distress and chirps softly.

"Togekiss," she whispers, clutching her chest. "What's going on?" Some sort of panic is building in her head, swelling, blistering to massive proportions. _Why am I feeling so apprehensive…? As if… as if something really, really bad had happened._

Her worst fears are confirmed when she spotted the charred spots of grass around the parameter—the chlorophyll had been burnt beyond recognition. Thick black smoke rises in plumes from the watchtowers. A sea of red and blue on the ground, plentiful and suffocating. Uniformed, armed police and INTERPOL agents milling around as if it's an active crime scene.

_Cyrus._ That name instantly pops into her mind.

"Down, Togekiss!" The Pokemon jumps from her sudden shout. It quickly descends into the ocean of uniformed personnel. Cynthia recalls the bird and storms up to the man in charge—the man with his hands running through his hair.

"Cynthia?" Looker yelps. Despite the rage building in her chest, she freezes at the sight of him. The Detective looks… old. Old and stressed and terrified.

"Looker?" she gasps. "What are you doing here?" _What happened to you?_

"I should be asking you the same thing." She happens to glance at his notebook. He promptly yanks it away, much to Cynthia's extreme annoyance.

"Why are you here, Cynthia?" His tone is cold and sharp.

Anger breathes life into her face. "You lied to me!" She jabbed a furious finger in his direction. Looker's eyes narrowed. The surrounding agents stop whatever they're doing to watch this sudden hostility between the Champion and the Detective.

"What the hell does that mean, Miss Champion?" Looker growls. His mouth is set in a very thin, very impatient line.

"You told me he was okay!" Her finger begins to tremble. "You said nothing happened to him! And yet, the guards told me that he wasn't moving! Why didn't you tell me—"

Looker's face darkens until the storm slaps her across the cheeks. "I should be asking you the same thing!" He towers forward. She staggers back. "Why didn't you tell me the truth about Crystal Cave? Why didn't you tell me that someone was out to get him?

"Why didn't you tell me about the blood loss, Cynthia?! You said it was an accident! _He_ said it was an accident! An accident shouldn't result in his almost bleeding to death! You know, sometimes you two are so alike that it's absolutely horrifying!

"And why didn't you help him, Cynthia? Why didn't you actively try to tend to him right away? Do you know how scared I was when I returned to see him on the floor? You're right, Cynthia: he wasn't moving! He wasn't doing anything! Did you know how much transfusions we had to go through? How long it took for him to finally wake up?! I honestly thought he was d…"

Looker drags a violent hand through his thinning hair. He brandishes his notebook like a sword. "I take my eyes off of him for one second, and look at this! Look at all this shit! How can someone like you explain what the hell just happened?!"

Cynthia's knees crumble, and she falls on the mud-soaked ground. The world is screaming and spinning. Her chest feels as if someone had shoved a hand down her throat and ravaged her insides to their heart's content. That bitter tang swells back up her mouth, only this time, it's an actual, physical manifestation.

"Cynthia?" Looker's voice is small when she whirls around and vomits what's left of her lunch. She presses her stomach to stop it from heaving again. Pins and needles jab into her limbs and brain.

"Cynthia… I'm sorry." Looker gently helps the woman to her feet. His face is ashen. "I didn't mean to raise my voice. I'm just a little… stressed out." He glares at the gawking officer and snaps, "Don't just stand there! Do you work, damn it!"

Cynthia shakes her head. "Looker, where is Cyrus?"

Before Looker can open his mouth, a pair of uniformed guards rush forward. "Sir!" one of them says. "The Warden wishes to speak to you!"

"Finally!" Looker shoots Cynthia an almost apologetic look. "That stubborn fool doesn't even give a damn, does he?"

"I'm coming too, Looker." Looker frowns. "Please," she adds in a whisper.

"Fine," he grumbles. Then he turns back to the guards. "So where's that bastard?"

* * *

There's nothing but disdain on the Warden's face as Looker and company file into the ruined prison. Cynthia notices the gaping holes in the walls and ceiling, as if a giant Pokemon had thrashed the place. There's water damage on steel and puddles in the corridors.

And strangely enough, there's the faint but unmistakable smell of burnt flesh in the air.

"Detective," the Warden huffs with his chin tilted upwards. "And… the Champion. You didn't have to come all the way here, ma'am."

"Yes, I did," Cynthia mutters without returning pleasantries.

Looker clears his throat. "Why don't we skip the Tauros-crap and dive straight into business?"

The Warden's lips curve unpleasantly. "Need I remind you, Detective, that this is my jurisdiction? You've already switched out my guards for those softies" –he juts his chin at the two personnel at Looker's side—"and wasted our resources on that undeserving punk, and—"

"Don't you have a job to do?" Looker hisses. The Warden scowls. After some unsavory language, the latter shuffles down the broken hallways of his prison with the Detective and Champion at his heels.

"What happened here?" Cynthia mutters to no one in particular.

"It's that damn creep's fault." Her blood suddenly boils for no apparent reason. She releases her fists with a faint hiss before realizing that Looker is doing the same. She notes the veins climbing up his neck. "Apparently, it was believed to be a freak lightning shock. But this was no accident. It has 'Galactic criminal' written all over it."

The party rounds some flights of metal stairs before arriving at the Maximum Security section of the prison. Unlike the ravaged halls below, this place looks quite undamaged.

Until she looks down, and her heart leaps to her throat and up her tongue.

"Looks like a damn horror movie." Looker's eyes are wide and grim. His gaze trails to the bloody footprints down the hall, as if they'd been unwilling dragged along. He turns to the walls, where numerous bloody handprints streaked along the metallic surface.

"He's a fucking maniac." The Warden stomps over the crimson footprints without a care in the world.

_"Just one punch,"_ a familiar voice whispers in her head. It could've been her own, but the lines are quite blurred right now.

Looker stares at the bloodstained floor. He frowns at a particularly large splatter as if someone had violently rammed their head into the wall. Whether by accident of not, it looked like it hurt.

A deeply unsettling conclusion is blooming in her heart. _Shut up, Cynthia! Don't think like that! It could be something else! It's not—_

Then she steps into his cell and almost fainted from the stench of burnt flesh. Crisp, charred human flesh. The food lurches to her throat, and Cynthia immediately bolts.

Looker is silently waiting when she returns. Judging from his face, he's not faring any better either.

"You don't have to be here, Cynthia," Looker grunts.

"Yes, I do," she forces the words from her turbulent stomach. _I need to._

The Warden waves a dismissive hand over the crime scene. There's a bold, black scorch next to the barred window…and within the soot is an indention resembling a pair of five-toed feet. Blood splatters blossom from said spot, spraying as far as the ceiling and the other side of the cell.

_Hold it in, Cynthia! HOLD IT IN! DON'T SCREAM! DON'T FAINT ON ME!!_

"Whatever that freak did, he did it with this." The Warden tosses the contorted gizmo to Looker, who caught it with a frown. It's a small device burnt beyond recognition, but upon closer inspection, she can make out wires, screws, and bolts. Materials out of a trash can.

Cynthia could've sworn she touched something like that not so long ago.

"A makeshift lightning rod," Looker mutters with hushed voice. He gingerly slips the evidence into a bag. "Amazing… to think he could create something like this out of junk…"

_"Of course,"_ a girl says somewhere in her memories. _"As to be expected of…"_

Cynthia clears her throat, careful not to inhale too much of the rancid air. "This isn't… this isn't Cyrus's cell… right?"

The scorched floor and splattered blood is not healthy for her mind right now. Even the air looks like it's sizzling.

"Got what he deserved." Cynthia starts forward to the snarky bastard, but Looker grabs her arm just in time. "Unfortunately, that sneaky son-of-a-bitch escaped. He managed to destroy the entire electrical grid and shut down everything and anything that needed electricity to run.

"Plus, all the Pokemon we collected as evidence are missing. Strange that only Team Galactic escaped… every single one of them… while the other prisoners were all accounted for." The Warden kicked at the outline of a head on the floor. "There must be someone on the inside. How else did he know where to look? How else could he have disabled those electronic doors?

"Unfortunately, the rain washed away their scents, so our Houndoom couldn't track them. If you ask me, I hope that criminal scum drowned in the sea. Less waste of taxpayer—"

"Enough," Looker snarls. The Warden smirk turns upside-down. "I'll take care of the aftermath. You—"

"If you ask me, Detective, I think you're developing a soft spot for that heartless monster." The Warden crosses his arms. "Could it be that even the great and powerful Looker fell for that freak's manipulation?"

Looker's face grows very white. "That's…" Then his expression hardened until the light fades from his eyes. "I am an officer of INTERPOL. Cyrus is under my jurisdiction. I'm just following protocol."

The Warden sneers. "Just because you've sprung into fame from that Operation doesn't mean you have the right to interfere with my area of authority. It's your fault that criminal escaped."

Looker snaps his jaw. "M-My fault?! Why you—" Cynthia holds him back before he can throw himself at the asshole.

"Focus!" she snaps, and the two men freeze. Cynthia forcibly calms her mind by breathing through her mouth. "We're wasting time!"

"The Champion is right," the Warden huffs. "What are you waiting for, Detective? Well, I have some good news: while you were bumbling along with your precious protocol, I've taken the liberty of sending his mugshots to all the major TV stations across Sinnoh!"

Looker's jaw drops. "You… You did _what?"_

The Warden smirks. "I actually don't care if we get him dead or alive. That freak has to pay for humiliating me with that Purugly—"

That despicable man trips over Cynthia's extended leg and falls face-first into the hallway. He isn't moving.

"Ooops," Cynthia says flatly, dispassionately. There's not a change in her expression. "He tripped."

"Yes," Looker says without batting an eye. He finishes his notes and steps over the Warden's unconscious body, accidently grazing the tip of his boots on the latter's ass. Cynthia steps on his hair with her heels. "What a shame. A tragedy. Someone will find him eventually."

The Detective and Champion follow the blood trail and muddy footprints to the ledge near the sea. The crashing waves and saline air here is harsher than those from the land of her memories.

"Cynthia." She turns. Looker sighs and drags a hand through his scalp. "I need some time to sort out this whole mess. I don't know what I can do, but I hope it's not too late. Do me a favor and don't tell the others about it. Please."

"The… others?"

Looker raises a brow. "The Elite Four. A-At least, until I can launch a proper investigation… Although my biggest concern at the moment is the mass hysteria when the news gets a hold of this information…"

"Okay." Cynthia swallows the cold stone down her throat. "Okay, Looker."

Looker inhales sharply. "You look like you want to tell me something, Cynthia."

_Yes, I do. You wouldn't believe what I've remembered… especially about them…_ Cynthia shakes her head. "I'm just tired. There just… a lot happening."

Looker scratches his head. "I don't blame you." The sea breeze whips his coat. "All right then, Cynthia. You go back to the League and rest up. I'll need your help sooner or later anyway."

A bitter laugh erupts from her throat. Looker frowns slightly. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Yes. That's what being a damn Hero entails after all..."

Before she leaves, Cynthia says, "Looker. I'm sorry."

Looker blinks. Then he sighs. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry too, Cynthia. We're both jerks."

"Yes," she hums. "That, we are."

The Detective still has something on his mind, though. She can feel it. "Cynthia. He's still out there."

Cynthia understands the true implications of his words. Both of them are thinking—hoping—the same thing, after all, but no one will admit it.

The possibility is slim, but Cyrus must still be alive. He has to be.

* * *

Cynthia ignores Looker's request and heads straight home. The petite old lady was surprised for one second before ushering her granddaughter into the familiar house of musty herbs and hazy memories.

Time hasn't touched Celestic Town, unlike the rest of the world.

Cynthia lets Garchomp roam around the timeless house as Grandma heats the equivalent of Moomoo milk. The old woman loved her milk, but upon realizing that her granddaughter had a dairy allergy, the former found only the best substitute for the girl.

_And Grandma still remembers, after all this time. Decades, has it been?_

Cynthia's thoughts are broken by Grandma's extremely loud, overbearing yelling. It doesn't help that the elder's Chingling is vibrating with her voice. "Cynthia, do you see those holes around the Ruins? There are holes all over the place, even all the way to Route 211!"

"Yes, yes, Grandma!" Cynthia groans. "You don't have to yell!"

"Yes, I do, you brash girl!" Grandma smacks Cynthia's head with a fan. The younger woman sputters some sort of exasperated response. "You tried using Draco Meteor against that whippersnapper, didn't you? Even though you haven't mastered it yet, you foolishly let your rage rule you! And look at the aftermath!"

Cynthia shrinks back into her chair. Garchomp whimpers and hides from the towering little old woman. "I've perfected it, Grandma," Cynthia mutters to her hands.

Grandma snorts loudly. "Perfected? Don't make me laugh!" Her supersonic voice reverberates through the walls.

Then she sits beside Cynthia and takes the latter's hand. Cynthia stares at this puny, powerful woman before her. "I can tell you've been through a lot, Cynthia. There's something on your mind, isn't there? Something that you're desperately grappling to find the truth to.

"But keep in mind that titles can be a hindrance at times, you know. People call you Champion and you get delusions of grandeur. You think you're untouchable." Grandma squeezes her granddaughter's hand before Cynthia can look away. "If you let it get to your head, you might end up hurting those closest to you… Trust is easy to create, but hardest to earn back.

"Isn't that right, Miss Sinnoh Champion?"

Cynthia instinctively clutches for her chin, but as to why, reason escapes her.

Grandma observes her granddaughter with narrowed eyes before whirling back with a dramatic sigh. "So, Cynthia. It's been a while since you visited this old woman. Something happened, didn't it?"

Cynthia sips her drink. Garchomp slinks back to her side, head lowered. "You can say that," she whispers. The older woman waits. After mulling it around in her mind, Cynthia speaks.

"Grandma. Do you remember Akagi?"

Grandma gives a gentle laugh. "Akagi… as in the Red Sun, according to ancient Sinnoan language? The boy you kept telling me about all those centuries ago?"

"Y-Yes." Her heart is picking up again. "Do you remember what I said about him? What he looked like? His real name?"

Grandma gives her a strange look before laughing again. "Cynthia, why are you asking me? Wasn't he your friend?"

The words hit Cynthia like a slap to the face. She immediately drops her gaze while her hands fly to cover her mouth. Grandma continues, "You stopped talking about him when you left this poor woman alone and started your Pokemon journey. I honestly thought you'd forgotten about him entirely."

The dairy substitute is cold to the touch. Cynthia sets the cup down. The gawking land dragon suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world.

"But…" Grandma's voice is softer now. "You would always brag about how nice he was. How intelligent and kind he was… and how he seemed to hide his sadness behind his smile. How he could create anything from nothing… How he was the sun to your moon." Cynthia slowly raises her head to Grandma's shining eyes. The former's heart is rumbling in her chest. "Didn't you two create an exploration team? Team Akatsuki? And you actually found rare treasures aside from your peculiar evolutionary stones?"

Cynthia brings the White Moonstone to light. The treasure pulsates gently in her palm. Garchomp grunts as her fingers curl around the forgotten memory.

Grandma is silent. Cynthia inhales deeply and smiles.

"Thanks, Grandma. I… I've made up my mind. I know what must be done now."

The old woman chuckles. She gives Cynthia a gentle smack on the neck with her fan. "I'm glad you got your spunk back, kid.

"But you're not going anywhere tonight!" Cynthia freezes as Grandma's supersonic voice blasts through her eardrums. "This old woman's kept your room exactly as it was decades ago. Get some rest before you do what it is you have to do."

"Okay." Cynthia gives another timid smile. "Thanks, Grandma."

The older woman laughs from the bottom of her stomach. It's a hearty sound that makes Cynthia feel all tingly with warmth and mirth. Grandma says something about brash whippersnappers before heading upstairs, her Chingling trailing behind her. Cynthia watches the two leave before wrapping her arms around the giggling Garchomp.

"Grandma's right, Garchomp," she says. "Let's get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow, after all. We're finally going to Sunyshore City."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA CHAPTER 20 WUTTT  
> AND WE'RE NOT EVEN TO THE SECOND ARC YET WUTT
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed! (-winks-) I really appreciate it! I hope you'll continue to join Cynthia and Cyrus on their journey!
> 
> That aside, if you're interested in checking out some art of this story and my other stories, you can head to my Tumblr. I often post self-indulgent art. (shameless self-promo yas)


	21. The Sun of Sunyshore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia returns to the land in her memories. After all this time, maybe the truth had been much closer than she'd thought… and much more horrendous than she'd ever imagined.

"CYNTHIA!"

Said woman almost falls over. Togekiss flashes the two humans an annoyed look. "Grandma! You're so loud!"

"HOW ELSE CAN YOU HEAR ME THEN?!"

People are staring but none dare to speak up. Except for Togekiss, who's muttering something under its breath.

"Grandma!" Cynthia groans. "We're literally standing right in front of each other!"

"Stop yelling, young whippersnapper!" Grandma puts a fist on her hip. "You should at least let me know before you take off like that! Don't just run off without saying a word!"

Cynthia grumbles to the air. "Fine. Okay, Grandma. Next time, I promise."

"Good." Grandma crosses her arms. She glances around the tranquil town. "Are you coming back?"

Cynthia blinks. _That's actually a good question._ She has absolutely no intention of going back to the League… nor anywhere else, for that matter.

"Yes," she says, and Grandma laughs.

"All right, then. I'll cook something nice for you tonight." The small woman waves. "Have fun, kid. Bring back good news, m'kay?"

* * *

The sun is harsh as Togekiss nears the outskirts of Sinnoh. Cynthia shields her eyes and glances down. The sea is a pristine ocean of glass under the cloudless blue skies.

_I might as well be on a damn vacation,_ she snickers to herself. _Hear that, everyone? The Champion is officially on hiatus! Your damn Hero is GONE!_ Right now, she's traveling to Sunyshore for answers. This is Shirona searching for her childhood friend in the place of her memories.

_"The city bathed in sunlight."_ Jupiter's words ring in her head, accompanied with the stale smell of rain.

Togekiss is humming. _"Thank Arceus we're not doing anything stupid today."_ That's what Cynthia thinks the Pokemon is saying. It might not be far off from the truth. _"First you had me sneak you off to the prison, then you forced me through that damn storm, then you had the gall to head through that forest everyone told you to stay away from…"_

"Thanks for bearing with me, Togekiss," she murmurs, stroking its soft fur. The bird casts her a look before snorting softly.

_"That's what I'm here for, Cynthia."_ Its eyes seem to relay.

The red-and-white lighthouse appears into view. Those palm trees with Flint's mythical coconuts. The glimmering shoreline with its condominiums and firms.

Sunyshore had sure changed from her childhood days. Modernization had made the city unrecognizable, and yet, it retained the air of nature's beauty. She spots the glistening black roads across the islands: solar panels laid as bridges, connecting the crossroads of whatever needs to pass.

Akagi's words from that balmy night passes through her mind for one second before dissipating into fog.

She wills Togekiss to descend. Cynthia thanks the bird, recalls it, and summons Garchomp. The land dragon sniffs the air with a peculiar expression on its face… almost as if it had returned home.

"Well?" Cynthia grins at her Pokemon. "We're back. How do you feel, Gible?"

Gible snorts. It pokes her knee with a gentle claw, earning a warm laugh from its Trainer.

"Where should we start first, Garchomp?" Cynthia glances around the sandy road. People see her and wave. She casually waves back until she spots the buggy of a news van peeking from the palm trees.

"Oh sh—" Cynthia and Garchomp bolt down the beachfront to the beach itself. _There goes my peaceful vacation._ She peeps from the rocky ledge and, after confirming that she wasn't followed, turns to the dragon with the next plan of action.

"Let's look for that Beach Cave, Garchomp." She holds its gaze. "Do you remember where it was?"

Garchomp sniffs the sweet, dry air again. Its huffs and points to the deeper horn of the beach, past the sunbathers and families.

"Damn." Cynthia sheds her fur coat and drapes it over her head. _It's sweltering in here._ "I gotta do what it is I came here to do," she grumbles through gritted teeth.

The land dragon snorts in affirmation. The Pokemon leads the way, meandering across the golden sands with Cynthia at its heels. Thankfully, none of the people bother to point out this strange woman cloaked in black while the sun is beating down on the beach.

"My father is head of the Jubilife TV Station!" That voice shoots up her spine in a distasteful surge of gooseflesh. Blood suddenly boils in her heart. She glances around to see the woman in fine clothes and jewelry shoving a flyer into a sunbather's face. A group of burly men surround her, awaiting her every beck and call.

"Soon everyone will know!" the haughty woman is saying, waving her leaflets in people's faces. "You heard it from me first, okay? I'm doing my part as a good, law-abiding citizen of Sunyshore city, unlike _this_ freak! I always knew something wasn't right with him!"

The woman and her posse had slathered pamphlets all over the beach, leaving no surfaces behind. Everyone within eyesight is holding whatever that was passed out.

"You!" The woman with gaudy, flashy clothes shoves a paper into Cynthia's unwilling fists. "Ignorant tourists like you should at least contribute to the crisis at hand. The sooner we get him off the streets, the safer the world will be!"

Something about this woman and her group causes veins to crawl up Cynthia's neck. Makes her chin buzz with heat, makes her knuckles crave for impact. The woman huffs and marches away, her boys stumbling at her heels.

Garchomp spits in their direction.

"What's her problem?" Cynthia mutters and looks down at the wanted poster. Her heart lurches. The red blossoms gnaw at her eyeballs until Garchomp snatches the leaflet away and incinerates it into soot.

Sight slowly returns to normal.

 _"Let's go, Cynthia."_ Garchomp tugs at her arm with an indignant growl. Tugs it hard. _"We're wasting time."_

Cynthia gasps. She strikes her face until clarity returns to reason. "Y-Yes, Garchomp. You're right. Let's… let's go…"

She almost trips over her feet. It's everywhere now. The wanted posters. The current situation is catching up to her bubble of conformity. Reality is peeking through her faltering illusion of safety.

_It's gotten out of hand._

"Miss Champion?"

Cynthia recoils violently. The voice belongs to a woman with her kids, the one who's waving at the petrified Champion.

"Miss Champion?" she says again. "Are you on vacation?"

Garchomp pinches her side. The Champion fumbles for her mask. "Y-Yes. I am indeed on vacation. Yes."

The other woman nods. "It's always nice to have the Hero of Sinnoh visit our little city. Are you planning to go further down the beach?"

"Um. Yes? Yes." Cynthia pulls her coat tighter around her head. "Is there a problem?"

The woman purses her lips. "Well… there's nothing down there. We haven't cleared out all the debris left from that recent monster storm. That area's been neglected for years now… Decades, even." She palms her cheek. "And with the increased police presence, it might be dangerous to go alone in seedy places like that."

The breath stops in her throat. She shakes her head until the funk dissolves into the saline air. "I can take care of myself," she almost snaps. Fortunately, the other woman doesn't catch that. "I'm the damn Champion of Sinnoh."

"We know." The woman returns her attention to the kids at her side. "We're just worried about you."

Cynthia brushes past the mother without a second glance. Garchomp scurries after its Trainer.

Then the land dragon happens to glance back to see the same person shoving those distasteful things into the woman's hands. It's the same person who'd stolen its Poke ball…the one who dared to hurt Cynthia from a long, long time ago… and got what she so rightfully deserved.

* * *

_Wow. She wasn't kidding. It's a mess over here._ The foremost southern part of the beach—the only place untouched by civilization is like a damn jungle of sand. The fine golden grains are splayed everywhere and anywhere. Remnants of the monster storm litter the area, from the algae dripping down the rocks to the Magikarp flopping about helplessly on the ground.

As Garchomp kicks the fishes back to the sea, Cynthia marvels at her surroundings. This place is unrecognizable from that precious rendezvous in her memories. But it's undoubtedly here. The Beach Cave. The place where everything began.

And cruelly enough, the very place where it all ended.

Garchomp catches her attention. Cynthia looks down to the trail of footprints besides her own—footprints too large to be a child's, too recent to be old… but too faded to be new. The prints start from the distance where she'd came from and proceeds into the yawning mouth of the Beach Cave.

Cynthia exchanges a glance with Garchomp before following the imprints.

The cold, pleasant air of Beach Cave greets her senses. Cynthia stops to let repressed memories catch up to the present. It feels as though she'd always been here, despite that jarring gap in time and memory. _There's the little waterfall behind the rocks… Waterfall Cave, remember? That small stream over there…_ _Miracle Sea._ Her gaze falls on the cerulean sands, to the mound in the center of the cave.

The footprints stop by the heap. Cynthia cautiously peeks over its constructed walls.

_"That's where Akagi and I found our treasures."_ The girl leaps from Cynthia's heart and peers into the sand. _"I messed up on drawing the moon, but look at Akagi's circles! They're so round and cute!"_

 _"Look at our hands."_ Shirona presses her phantom palm against Cynthia's. _"Wow, I've grown so much! I wonder how tall he is now…"_ Cynthia notices the two sets of children's hands within the sand. There's also Gible's imprint, as well as the indention of a beak and a wing.

The woman gingerly strokes the cold grains. Her fingertips tingle upon touching the boy's small, sandy hand, as if she'd brushed through the fabric of time itself.

_"Oh. What's Garchomp looking at?"_ Shirona bounces to the land dragon, who's staring at the scribbles on the cavern walls. Cynthia reminds herself to breathe before heading to the site in question.

Dates are scrawled across the stone, as if she's looking at some primitive diary. Shirona points to the entry on the leftmost side and slides her finger along the wall as she reads. _"Every summer, we'd keep a record of our time together. That's what exploration teams do, right? Look here. We found a Golden Mask at Mt. Horn… a Water Float at Amp Plains… a Blue Ribbon…"_

Cynthia finds herself nodding. Shirona smiles and returns to the writing. _"We'd take turns writing down the events. Akagi's writing was so neat, like an adult's."_

 _"Murkrow learned Assurance today."_ Indeed, the small, compact letters look to well-controlled to have been spun from a boy's hands. _"After our curiosity got the best of us, we were forcibly expelled from Waterfall Cave to land at the nearby Hot Springs."_

Cynthia scans the walls. The messy, spontaneous scrawling of the girl's contrasts deeply with the precise penmanship of the boy's.

_"We saw bubbles today! It was amazing!"_

_"Shellos is so cute! Akagi told me something about their colors!"_

_"The summers grow short with each passing year. Today, though, the sun appeared to take longer to set."_

Though different, the writing styles, both in aesthetic and content, complimented each other in the strangest way. Complimented each other just like day and night.

_"Our evolutionary stones are mysterious indeed. What secrets do they hide? I can't wait to finally unlock their purpose with Shirona."_

Without knowing why, Cynthia drops to her knees and sifts through the mound of sand. The glint of the metallic White Moonstone catches in the sunlight spilling through the cracks of the ceiling. The Red Sunstone's replica bears the same peculiar inscription as its counterpart. With trembling hands, Cynthia holds her genuine White Moonstone to the false Red Sunstone.

A chill taps her heart, and it's not from the surrounding air.

Garchomp's whining brings her back to the present. Cynthia wipes her eyes and stands. The land dragon is staring at the diary entries, tracing the jubilant stories of days past until it reaches the more recent ones… the memos all written by one set of hands… the desperate messages awaiting a response that never came.

_"Are you all right, Shirona? I hope you're safe after that nasty storm."_

_"Shirona? Please tell me you're okay."_

_"I haven't heard from you. Zubat and Murkrow are worried about you and Gible. Please let me know how you are."_

_"Did you go back to Celestic Town, Cynthia?"_

That bitter taste is emerging in her throat. Her breathing has grown frantic and heavy. The woman looks around, but the little girl is nowhere in sight.

The messages grow more agitated, but not from anger. Her eyes grow fuzzy as the messages decrease in consistency along the cavern walls.

_"Did I do something wrong, Cynthia?"_

A few days later. _"Are you mad at me? Did I wrong you in any way? Please let me know, Cynthia. Please let me know so I can fix myself."_

Words are distorted by fog. Cynthia violently shakes her head, and the mist lifts from her eyes. The same message, the same melancholy sentiment continues down the walls, decreasing in word and frequency. Despair seeps from the forgotten messages, worming into her pounding heart when she knew the author finally saw the truth… that despite trying to reach for his friend across the seasons and time, everything was futile in the end.

The last entry stops before a glaring chasm of nothingness. Two simple words, shaky and final as the author resigned himself to the ultimate reality.

_"I'm sorry."_

And the entries end there.

Garchomp has to physically bring Cynthia back to the present. She shoves her face into her palms, but she can't hide the pathetic sobs that reverberate through the empty, soulless cavern walls. She retreats into her mind until the ache in her chest slowly, painfully ebbs away.

Garchomp quietly pads to a crevice in the wall. Cynthia inhales deeply, filling her lungs with moisture-rich air, and follows the land dragon to an additional message hidden between a failing stream of water.

_"There's nothing left for me here. And yet, before I go, I feel it is necessary to leave a parting note for the one who'd changed my life, although that could be an arbitrary proclamation. If you happen to see this, I apologize wholeheartedly for keeping you. I held you back. I was selfish and naïve, and I refused to acknowledge the truth because of my own lacking heart. Now I know. Now I understand. You had every right to leave me behind, as I had no right to think we were anything other than passing strangers. My only regret was not being able to give you a proper apology. Follow your dreams, and you'll surely attain them. That way, you'll never have to see me again."_

The next time consciousness returns, her body is engulfed in Garchomp's warm chest. Cynthia buries her head into the dragon's presence. There's no need to return to this cruel, unforgiving world.

"I don't want to be here anymore," she whispers. It could've been a sob instead. Garchomp nods, its heart thundering against her skull. The Pokemon helps its Trainer to her feet and proceeds away from the forsaken land of memory.

And that's when Cynthia notices the footprints. There's a new set of writing on the wall next to the entrance: writing recent enough to be distinguished from the older set behind her. These entries begin as hesitant one-word thoughts, as if the author himself had doubted the act of even returning in the first place.

_"I'm here again."_

_"This is stupid. I'm wasting my time."_

_"Nothing's changed. Of course. What did I expect?"_

The penmanship now is stiff and refined, its softer edges long gone. And yet, there's still something strikingly familiar. Something that grabs her heart and twists it into bleeding tatters.

_"Memory loss can be a fickle thing. If this is indeed a joke, it is not funny. This is a waste of my time."_

Some days later. _"Her memory loss grows more concerning. This is no longer a game. She smiled at me, as though…"_ A smudge through the chalk. _"Something had gone terribly wrong. I must find a cure at once."_

A longer entry to its right. _"Here I am again, pouring my thoughts to this hopeless, forsaken place. Do I really want her to remember everything?"_ The words are ravaged by a thick, angry line with such violence that there are chunks of colored powder flaking down the wall.

The next entry is calmer. More legible. _"After all this time, she still maintained a love for the beach. Thankfully, the Krabby still come at dusk's near. Next time, I'll make some more gateau."_

Garchomp notices its Trainer's trembling shoulders but says nothing. Cynthia's attention is wholly absorbed by the latest entry. _"Why is this happening to me now? This inconvenient, needless sentimentality… I've made such progress. I've sacrificed so much so my dream can become reality… And yet, could it be that I was wrong? That this path was not what I had sought?_

_"Had I met you sooner, would things have been different for me?"_

Despite every fiber in her body screaming at her not to do it, Cynthia lets her eyes stray to the date.

Yes.

It was written on the day before **Operation E.C.L. I. P.S.E.**

That's what she remembers before the world plunges into black.

* * *

_"Are you hungry?"_

_Cynthia made a face. "No! Let's finish our exploration! We're almost to the end of Zero Isle South!"_

_The boy frowned. "Shirona, your stomach is growling." There's no mirth nor joke in his steely eyes. "You need to eat."_

_"I already ate an Apple! My Belly is at thirty percent!" Before she can continue to mess up the sand, the boy grabbed her wrist. She flashed him a scowl. "Akagi, I'm so close to the treasure!"_

_"This is not a game, Cynthia!" The girl froze at his suddenly sharp, commanding tone. Akagi gasped, and his expression immediately softened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, but you will faint if you continue to neglect your body."_

_Cynthia pouted. She ushered Gible into her arms. "Why do you always say the scariest things, Akagi? And you're always so formal when you speak."_

_"But… this is how I talk." He tilted his head, eyes narrowed. "And I'm only telling you the truth."_

_"Then I don't want to hear the truth," was the grumble._

_"Cynthia." His tone dipped into disbelief. She sighed and stood._

_"Fine, fine. I get it, Dad." Akagi's eyes darkened until they almost became black. But she didn't catch that. "Let's go, Gible."_

_She stormed from the mound. Akagi looked at his Pokemon before running to catch up to the girl. "Cynthia," he muttered. "I have some Fresh Water…"_

_Cynthia looked at him, and all her earlier annoyance faded at the sight of his reddened cheeks. "Do you have Lemonade instead?"_

_He frowned. "It's all sugar, Cynthia."_

_"That's what makes it good!" She called his true name and grinned mischievously. He blinked multiple times before his own lips tugged into a smile._

_Zubat peeked behind the soft nest of his hair. Murkrow roosted on his shoulder. Akagi tickled Gible's nose and looked up to the grinning girl. Her stomach fluttered, and her gaze darted to his ear for no apparent reason. "Are you available tonight, Cynthia? Do you want to stop by Grandfather's house?"_

_Cynthia gasped. "So it's okay then?"_

_"Of course!" Akagi was beaming now. The sun broke through the ceiling of the Beach Cave, ushering in the warmest light Cynthia had never thought was humanly possible. "He can't wait to see you! In fact, all he could talk about last night was you."_

_The two children walked, hand-in-hand, down the glistening sands of the beach. Cynthia stared at him before crying, "Akagi, look at all the bubbles! It's so beautiful today!"_

_"Yes," he hummed, the evening lights glimmering in his eyes—eyes as clear as the glassy ocean. The red sun is setting behind his figure, enveloping him in a halo of radiance. "I see the Gastrodon have also come out. Look, Cynthia. The Lotads are here as well. The Poliwag… the Quagsire…_

_"But we need to get going." He gave a gentle tug at her hand, jarring her attention away from his face. "It's getting dark. And your mother and father will be worried if you're home in time."_

_"Huh? Oh. Um… I already told them. Still, I'm okay as long as I'm with you, right?" He tilted his head with a peculiar look. Cynthia giggled. "Akagi, can you take me to see the bubbles again next time? It's my favorite sight in summer."_

_Akagi's eyes were warm, and her heart was blossoming. "Of course," he said. "I'll take you to see the bubbles again. I promise."_

_The two children walked down the familiar, unpaved roads of Sunyshore. Cynthia remembered him saying something about installing solar panels._ If he said it, then he'll do it. Akagi can do anything.

_"Grandfather lives there." The boy pointed to the tallest palm tree on the island, its outline a purple hue against the orange skies. "'Three trees, see? Wouldn't you agree?'"_

_Cynthia snorted. "What?"_

_His face immediately flushed. "That's something he'd used to say," he muttered, turning away._

_The boy and girl head up the road to the ugliest yellow house Cynthia had ever seen. As she stared at the three incongruent palm trees with their fat coconuts, Akagi knocked on the door._

_"Grandfather? It's me! Cynthia's here too!"_

_The door flew open. Akagi's grandfather was like any other feeble old man in tweed. He reminded her a lot of Grandma, although this man was much taller and hairier._

_"Why, if it isn't my favorite kiddo!" Grandfather's voice was soft but loud enough to be heard. Akagi's ears glowed as the man laid a weathered hand on the boy's head. "And… this is Cynthia?"_

_"Yes, Grandfather. She's my—" He suddenly froze. Zubat and Murkrow gave him a much needed smack to the back of the head. "S-She's the one I was telling you about."_

_"Hello!" Cynthia beamed. Grandfather chuckled and patted her head. His touch told her that everything would be all right. "Pleased to meet you!"_

_"How adorable!' Grandfather turned to the boy with a crooked grin. "You wouldn't believe all the delightful things my grandson said about you! Why, he'd keep gushing—"_

_"Grandfather!" Akagi had buried his face into his palms. His Pokemon muttered some words of encouragement. Cynthia just smiled, confused as to why there's steam coming from his ears._

_"Hehe." The old man placed a hand on the children's shoulders. "Don't just stand there! Come on in!"_

_Akagi's grandfather's house was like a mini library with its faint smell of old man and books. Miniature models of planets adorned his shelves. On the mantle place were frames of the man and his grandson._

_Cynthia inhaled greedily. "Something smells so good!"_

_Grandfather laughed. It's a soft, tinkling sound of bells chiming. "Yes, yes. I'm making my famous chicken soup tonight!" He winked. "I've made the best non-diary gateau just for my grandson's little friend!"_

_"Grandfather!" Akagi moaned._

_"Oh, what's wrong, son? There's nothing to be ashamed of!" The old man rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "This feeling is perfectly normal for a boy your age! Why, when I first met my old lady, I thought I was having hunger pangs—"_

_"GRANDFATHER! CYNTHIA IS STARVING!" Akagi thrashed his hands in the air. His face was like a tomato with blue leaves instead of green. The old man roared with laughter until tears sprang to his eyes. Poor Akagi could only whimper before he turned and fled. When Cynthia found him behind the sofa, he'd curled into a protective ball with his Pokemon gawking up at him._

_"Akagi?" Cynthia tugged his sleeve. She gasped and laid a hand on his forehead. "Oh no! You're burning up! Are you feeling feverish, Akagi?"_

_"Please don't look at me," he squeaked and turned his entire body to wall. "This is so disheartening…"_

_"Come on, kids!" Grandfather's voice rumbled through the house. Gible prodded to the boy whose head was sizzling with smoke. The shark poked his cheek. "The food's going to get cold!'_

_"Akagi." Cynthia poked his head. He still had a dazed look on his burnt face, but he nonetheless followed her into the kitchen._

_Everything about this house reminded her of Grandma's house, back in Celestic Town. It's a wonderful feeling. Cynthia's stomach moaned at the bowl of soup before her. The three Pokemon bounced eagerly when the boy served their portions._

_"Your soymilk, Cynthia." Grandfather's blue eyes flickered between the two children. The girl eagerly grabbed the cup while the boy watched her with a fascinated expression. The old man's lips shot up to his cheek._

_"Your gateau…" Akagi shyly placed the plate next to the ravenous girl. Her eyes widened at the pretty piece of dark cake on the flowery plate._

_It's when she realized no one was talking that she finally looked up from her food. "What?" she said, her mouth full of soup._

_Akagi fiddled with his fingers. "Is it… good?"_

_"It's delicious!" Cynthia beamed. The boy was literally giving off steam. Grandfather's grin grew more crooked with each amusing interaction._

_"Cynthia," he said in a sing-song voice. "Did you know that this little tyke sometimes helps me cook? Problem is, he puts in way too much seasoning! I almost choked from all that salt in the soup from last time!"_

_"Ooooh… Grandfather…" Akagi hung his head as the man doubled-over in laugther. The Pokemon were giggling. Cynthia eventually succumbed to the contagious atmosphere and shrieked until milk flew from her nostrils. That in turn caused everyone to explode, even Akagi, whose entire body was burning up._

_"You can cook, Akagi?" Cynthia gasped after everyone sobered up and she had wiped her nose._

_"Yes." Barely above a whisper. "Though it's difficult for me to taste correctly."_

_Cynthia shook her head. "That's so cool. You should cook for me someday."_

_After everyone finished eating, Cynthia offered to help with the dishes, only for both grandfather and grandson to staunchly refuse. In the end, Zubat and Murkrow offered to act as tour guides of the house to the girl and her Gible._

_The old man's house was modest compared to her parents' beach house. Shelves of books lined the faded walls. A box of scraps sat next to an armchair in the main room. Small robots decorated the mantelpiece, ranging from decorative to functional machinery. If she looked closer, she can see Akagi's handiwork on various furniture in the house, giving the defunct appliances a second chance at life._

_Grandfather had a lot of pictures with his grandson. In fact, it's mostly just them, and Zubat and Murkrow. Cynthia caught the boy's bright smile and beamed as well. Zubat chattered something to Gible, who clapped and said something to the nodding Murkrow._

_"Wouldn't it be cool if Pokemon could talk?" Cynthia mused as she scanned the bookshelves. Myths. Biographies. Nonfiction. More complex titles such as "The Future of Machinery" and "String Theory for Dummies."_

_Cynthia sneaked back to the kitchen and poked her head around the wall._

_"…us, you don't know how happy I am that you've found a friend," Grandfather was saying while the boy washed the dishes. "From what you've told me, I thought she was a superhero or something."_

_"Heroes are mere figments of fanatical children's stories," the boy said softly as he thrust a foaming dish into the water. Grandfather's brows furrowed. "And I'm not even sure if the sentiment if mutual. But Shirona—Cynthia's really kind, Grandfather. She's the nicest, strongest person I've ever met."_

_Grandfather dipped his head and regarded the boy with dim eyes. "Why do you call her 'Shirona?' And why does she call you 'Akagi?'"_

_"Oh. That's… that's our explorer names." The boy glanced at the older man with a timid smile. "I've learned a lot of Sinnoan mythology from you, Grandfather. Cynthia's learned it from her grandma as well. We thought it would be a nice tribute to our shared pastimes."_

_The two lapsed into a silence, only to be broken by Cynthia's pounding heart and the Pokemon's hushed whispers. The sink continued to run, rivulets of water bouncing off glass._

_Then Grandfather called his grandson's name._

_The boy turned. "Yes, Grandfather?"_

_"Are you happy?" The dishes slipped. Akagi fumbled for the plates._

_After a long, heavy silence, the boy spoke. It's barely above a whisper. "Yes. I can't thank her enough."_

_Gible nudged Cynthia's leg, jarring the girl back to reality._

_Grandfather's smile was kind as he ruffled the boy's hair. "You've changed" –Akagi's true name—"for the better. I guess I too am in Cynthia' debt."_

_Then the mirth slipped from his weathered face. "Summer's almost over. You're going to have to go back soon."_

_Akagi's shoulders tensed. "I'll be all right." She can't see his face. "I can be patient. It's… I'll be fine, Grandfather. I can take care of myself."_

_"But what about Cynthia?"_

_The boy stiffened. Water streamed from the faucet like heavy rain. Cynthia covered her mouth to stifle her own uneven breathing._

_"It's okay, Grandfather. It was never my intention to force her to stay. It's up to her to decide if she wants to keep wasting her time with someone like me." The boy took a deep breath before returning to finish his work. It's as if nothing had happened… save for that trembling in his hands._

_Grandfather frowned and called Akagi's name. The boy slowly turned to the fuming man. "I told you to stop talking like that! Boys your age should be experiencing the joys of growing up! You should be talking about toys and crushes…" The grandson dropped his gaze. Grandfather's brows dipped to his nose. "I swear, if I had been able to take you in and raised you myself—"_

_"Grandfather, stop." The old man froze at the boy's sharp, heavy tone. Akagi bit his lips and looked away to the bright moon in the sky. "It's too late for that. But I have no time to ruminate on the past, now that I have something to look forward to in the future. I don't want Cynthia to hear this. I want to her to have fun before she has to go back."_

_Before the old man could react, Zubat flew to the boy, followed by a screeching Murkrow. Gible threw itself into the child's chest, much to his shock._

_"…us!" Cynthia yelled his name. Akagi froze. Grandfather stared at the scene with wide eyes, his jaw agape._

_"Cy…!" Cynthia called his name again. The Pokemon brought him back to earth._

_"Y-Yes? Cynthia?" Akagi gasped._

_The girl stormed up to the staring boy—and hugged him. Hugged him tight. The boy stiffened with her touch, but there's no signs of the blizzard from before. No, there's just a warmth… a precious warmth from this sad, wise boy in her arms._

_"I'm not going to leave you alone," Cynthia muttered, refusing to him slip from her fingers again. "I'll come back every summer! I'll come back until we're ready to set out to our dreams! I won't let anyone hurt you again, Cy…! I'll protect you!"_

_The boy attempted to say something, only for his words to fall on deaf ears. He stared at trembling girl with mournful eyes that shouldn't belong to any child. Eyes that threatened to unleash the damn within her heart._

_And then those words, soft and fragile as the bubbles on the beach, reached her ears._

_"Thank you."_

_Grandfather embraced the children and their Pokemon. Cynthia and the old man watched as Akagi's head drooped in a gentle laugh. Her chest tightened again. Almost painfully so._

_"Cynthia." Grandfather's voice was thick. "Before you leave, would you mind taking a picture with my grandson? We'd both love to display it on the mantle."_

_"Of course! I'll be back tomorrow morning for sure!" Akagi slowly raised his head. She gave him a reassuring smile, holding it until one appeared on his lips as well._

_"Thank you so much, Cynthia. You have no idea how much…" His gaze dropped to the floor. "Okay. I shall see you tomorrow then, at the place we first met."_

* * *

Garchomp's wing is strong enough to knock the living daylights out of her. Cynthia gasps until her brain can function normally again.

"Thanks, Garchomp," she grunts, rising from the bench, stumbling a bit before she rightens herself.

The land dragon nods and wordlessly follows its Trainer down the gravel road. The Pokemon was greatly troubled when Cynthia suddenly bolted from the cave as if something had possessed her. Garchomp tracked her down to a nearby bench, but the woman's mind was in a completely different world by then.

Cynthia wipes her face with her sleeves before taking in a deep, greedy breath of saline air.

Then she freezes. There, in the distance, are the three palm trees with the middle one towering over the city. A cold claw jams down her throat.

_"Three trees, see?"_ It's not the girl's voice this time. _"Don't you agree, Shirona?"_

Cynthia's feet move on her own. The house had radically changed, so much so that there's not a trace of recognition left. Nothing to compare it to that ugly yellow house in her memories, save for the three sacred palm trees.

Her hands rap on the door. Her mind is numb when the it opens.

"Yes?" _Who's that?_ The woman before her has a nice smile on her unblemished face. Definitely not an old man at all. "Oh, Champion Cynthia! Welcome! Are you taking a vacation in our humble city?"

"Y-Yes…" Cynthia peers behind the woman's figure, peers into the cold, unfamiliar house. Nothing to indicate that a child used to live here. The pictures on the mantelpiece are nonexistent.

The woman remains in the doorway, almost blocking it. "You look like you want to ask us something, Champion Cynthia."

"Oh…" Garchomp tugs her sleeve with an encouraging nod. Cynthia inhales. "Um… say, ma'am? Do you happen to know the old man who used to live here?"

The woman frowns. "Old man? I'm sorry. It's only ever been my husband and me."

Cynthia's shoulders slump.

Another man comes to the door. "Oh, Miss Cynthia! What are you doing here?"

The woman exchanges a silent look with the man before turning back to the deflated Champion with a polite smile.

"I'm sorry, Miss Cynthia," she says pleasantly. "We're quite busy right now. Thanks for stopping by."

"Oh. Um… okay. Sorry." Cynthia gives a small bow. She's not even to the gates when the door slammed behind her.

"What the hell was that?" Cynthia huffs to a pensive Garchomp as they round back down the streets. She shoves the hair from her face and exhales through her teeth. "Damn it, Garchomp. Now we're back at square one. I could've sworn that was his house though—"

Her words are immediately cut short. The bulletin board shouldn't have seized her attention like this. It should've just been a damn wooden board with junk flyers and community announcements. The more she stared at those empty eyes, the more those red splotches rioted across her vision.

Cynthia tears a handful of wanted posters off the wall and feeds them to Garchomp's flame, giggling to herself as she destroys public property.

A hand pops into her peripheral vision. Cynthia jolts and whirls around to the stranger.

"Woah, woah." Volkner puts his hands in the air. "Chill out, Cynthia. You look like you're going to murder me."

Cynthia scrambles for her mask. "What… Don't you have a Gym to run, Volkner?"

The man casts a disinterested glance in the other direction and shrugs. "I'm bored. No one's giving me a challenge. And there's so much police around that everyone's scared of visiting poor Volkner."

He picks some lint off his coat. Cynthia's eyelids droop just by watching him. "I'm just taking a nice stroll when I saw you defacing public property. It looked fun, so that's why I'm here."

Cynthia gapes as Volkner yanks a poster off the panel without batting an eye. He turns the leaflet around in his palms, his eyes narrowing at the glaring picture. "Wasn't he in my high school? I could've sworn Flint and I tried to do something…"

"Volkner…" Cynthia's voice is low and menacing.

The Gym Leader shrugs, indifferent to her sudden hostility. "You think he could give me an electrifying challenge, Cynthia?"

"Volkner, this is not a joke."

"What is?" The man is staring at her blankly. Cynthia suddenly forgets why she's even angry in the first place.

_You don't even care, huh, Volkner? You're not even on a side._

Garchomp blinks as Volkner crumbles a large heap of papers with his fists. "Oh yes," the man mutters, almost entranced. "Nothing like the crisp cries of a tree to please the ears." He nods at the gawking woman. "You're right, Cynthia. This is really relaxing."

"Um… thanks?" The bulletin board is clean now, devoid of anything that can inflame the shame in her heart. Cynthia turns to Volkner. "You grew up here, right?"

"Um. Yeah." Volkner leans back and yawns. "What's up?"

His apathy really is contagious. "Do you know the old man that used to live up there? Where the three palm trees are?"

The Gym Leader squints into the distance. "Confession: I really needed to get out more when I was a wee lad." Then some sort of light flickers into his dim eyes. "Oh. We do have the oldest man on the island. You should try talking to him instead."

A beam of light radiates down her head. "D-Do you know where I can find him?"

"Yep. You see that Lighthouse over there? Yup, that red-and-white one. It's that house with the inflatable floatie. You should know when you see all the fishing rods on his lawn."

"Great." Garchomp grinned at Cynthia's renewed vigor. "Thanks, Volkner."

"Yup." The yawn of the century rips from his throat. Cynthia's vision tilts dangerously. "Well… good luck, Cynthia."

"Where are you going now, Volkner?" She puts her hands on her hips, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Gonna find a place to nap. Everyone's too chicken to challenge me because of all these damn posters." Volkner bobs his head. "Actually, I feel like taking the trash out today. These things have no place on my island."

Volkner flashes her a gesture. "Peace out, Cynthia." She watches his retreating back fade into the sunlight. He stops to snatch the loose pamphlets off the walls and feeds it to his Electivire's Thunder before vanishing into the distance.

"Whose side is he on?" Cynthia mutters to a yawning Garchomp. They proceed further down the wharf to that house with fishing poles on the lawn and flailing Magikarp strewn across the yard.

"There's no way in hell that I'm selling my damn place to you ungrateful—" The old man blinks. His glassy eyes wash over the awkward Champion and her Garchomp.

Then his ruddy face breaks into a grin. "Oh, Cynthia! What a surprise! Come on in!"

Cynthia and Garchomp exchange a surprised glance before hurrying inside the house. Aside from the smell of Water-type Pokemon and musty furniture, this place emanates the same sense of nostalgia from the grandfather's house of long ago.

"Please, sit down!" The man glances at the sticky notes on his walls. The woman and Pokemon sit on the worn sofa. "It's been a while since I've seen you! What can I help you with?"

Cynthia clears her throat. "Um… so we've met before?"

"What? When?"

"Um…" Garchomp shifts in its seat. Cynthia turns back and shakes her head. "Sir. Do you happen to remember—I mean--do you know of the old man who used to live by that house with the three trees?"

This old man mulls it over for a bit, counting his fingers with a scrunched brow. Then his eyes widen. "Oh! The one with his grandson?"

_Oh Arceus._ "Y-Yes! That one!"

"That old fart was my fishing buddy!" He points to the picture on the mantelpiece. "That him?"

"Yes!" _Exactly that! With that tweed and mischievous grin and everything!_ "Yes, yes!"

Garchomp has to gently remind Cynthia to calm the fuck down.

The old man nods. "Yes, let me just ask him if he's home. Is it summer already? That means the little kid's coming over today…"

Then his expression darkens. "No, wait." He peers at the notes on his board. Peers at the calendar. He almost looks… forlorn.

"Sir?" Cynthia whispers.

"I'm sorry, Miss Champion." His voice is low. "My friend's… he's in a better place now."

The words remain in the air well after they're uttered. Cynthia forces herself to breath until the icy claw releases its grip from her quivering heart. Garchomp lowers its head.

"I'm sorry," she says to the floor.

The old man's eyes flicker to the picture again. Then he scratches his beard. "Sorry you came here for nothing, Miss Champion."

"N-No." Cynthia shuts her eyes and straightens. "I… I was wondering about the grandson. Can you tell me more about him?"

"Grandson?"

"Yes…"

"Oh! The grandson!" The sound of fist against palm. "That little tyke! Unfortunately, the last I've seen him was when he returned with his doctoral degree. That was centuries ago, though. I have no idea where he is now." The man thinks long and hard. "I've been out of the loop on all this news business, but I remember hearing his name recently… Give me a minute. It's on the tip of my tongue."

_Did it suddenly get hotter in here?_ Garchomp nudges Cynthia's leg. She flinches, the movement causing the beads of sweat to fly from her forehead to her hands. The heartbeat is thrashing against her skull. The man's voice barely registers in her brain.

"Hold up. I think I kept some of the old fart's things when they sold his property. Damn those ungrateful… throwing his things on the street like that…"

Soon the man emerges with a dusty box. He fishes for a thick, peeling leather book and flips through the pages. "Hehe. You look like you're on a missing person's case, Cynthia."

She gasps louder than she intends to.

As the man travels down memory lane, Cynthia also takes up a scrapbook. Garchomp peers over her trembling shoulders with a slight frown. Her fingers hover above the forgotten, well-preserved memories.

_Oh Arceus…_ Cynthia's lips quiver, only for a whimper to escape her mouth. The clouds from her memories lift, revealing a flash of eyes as cold as ice. A face both foreign and familiar. The evidence stares back at her until her heart finally succumbs to what it had staunchly refused to acknowledge.

"This… this is his grandson…" It's not a question anymore. Doubt has no place in the present that she'd so desperately tried to hide behind.

The old man leans over, and a small, sad smile tugs on his lips.

"Oh, yes. Such a cute little thing, isn't he? And yet, someone as young as him shouldn't have to shoulder such great a burden." He leans back, and Cynthia flinches for no reason. Garchomp measures its Trainer with unreadable eyes.

"The poor child grew up too fast," the old man continues to anyone who will listen. "Worn down by trying to live up to his parents' expectations, he found refuge in tinkering with machines. After all, they don't judge him for being himself."

_"I just find assembling things to be relaxing,"_ the boy had told the girl a long time ago, back when she watched him take apart Grandfather's broken heater. _"I know I can fix them. That in itself is a rewarding experience."_

Then another voice cuts into the past: a deeper, jaded timbre that still retained the same fascinated quality of antiquity.

_"Why are you always tinkering with machines?"_ Cynthia had asked a long time ago, back when she was with him in the City of Stone.

_"That's… Aren't you about to explore Veilstone today, Cynthia? You said you're on the verge of remembering something."_

_"Aw, come on! I'm really curious! It's amazing how you can build anything from nothing! What's your secret, eh, Cy…"_

The old man's musings slice through her thoughts like a cleaver of lightning. "Oh yes, it's all coming back to me now. Sometimes my friend would regret not being able to take the child in. If he'd been the one to raise the kid, maybe things would've turned out differently… although if that would be a good choice or not, no one could say…"

Cynthia's neck is so stiff that one tiny, insignificant movement can crack her whole neck off her body. Icy needles drag themselves up her spine, pricking into her turbulent stomach and tell-tale heart.

_"My name is Cynthia,"_ the girl had said, back when it all began, in a time where everything was much simpler and happier.

_"Cynthia? Like the moon?"_

The old man suddenly sits up. "Aah! I remember now! The boy's name was a special one. The old coot was inspired by those Sinnoan legends about night and day. Why, didn't you come over once, Cynthia? You're all that he ever talked about!"

_"Wow! So you know of the Sinnoan myths too? That's so cool! So what's your name?"_

Cynthia remembers that slow, careful pause. She remembers how those clouded blue eyes narrowed at her words. She remembers smiling as sunlight spilled into his frozen heart, melting away his impenetrable prison of ice. Past and future blur before her, the voices overlapping into one singular person.

_"Pleased to meet you, Cynthia. My name is Cyrus."_

_"Ooh! That's such a wonderful name! You're Cyrus… like the sun!"_

* * *

Cynthia barely recalls the events following that revelation. She remembers the old man crying out when the scrapbook fell to the floor. She remembers apologizing profusely before fleeing out the door.

Time had come to a complete standstill in the world around her.

Garchomp remained silent the entire time. The land dragon only stared as its Trainer drifted down the wharf and onto the streets like a doll that had lost its purpose.

"Miss Champion!"

Cynthia blearily looks up to the woman. The one from before, except now that her kids aren't with her. There's panic on her face, as if something had gone terribly wrong.

"What?" Cynthia says, her voice detached from reality. That's when she sees the paper.

"Oh Arceus, I'm so glad you're safe, Miss Champion! I… I didn’t know about this! I should've warned you about going further down the beach!"

Everything is numb. "Why?"

The woman jabs a sharp finger to the wanted poster. "It was a while ago, but sometimes I'd see him walking down the path you were headed, Miss Champion! At first I thought it was just another wierdo, but he assured me he knew perfectly well where he was going, and that it was none of my business to begin with.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Champion! I should've known who he was! I should've never let that criminal step back into this city! I've already called the police, just in case he comes back to hide. It's just not safe around here anymore…"

Her lips wilt into a disgusted snarl. "I can't believe such a monster grew up right here in Sunyshore, just under our noses. How could we have been so blind?"

* * *

Togekiss is silent as if soars across the dour, painted skies. The Pokemon often glances up at its Trainer before immediately looking away.

Cynthia grunts. Togekiss wordlessly descends to the City of Stone, to the very place that gave its Trainer the title of "Hero." The Pokemon watches the woman stagger off its back and gasps when she turns around.

There's nothing in her eyes now. It wasn't even long ago when they were still full of drive and vigor.

 _"Cynthia?"_ The woman recalls the worried Pokemon and marches past the police tape, past the warning signs and boarded windows.

Shadows have etched themselves deep into the building's halls. The evening sun is ominous and foreboding, a deep shade of red that washes the cold metal in blood. A melancholy silence rings through the thick air, almost driving her deaf. A thin layer of dust swirls around her ankles.

 _Don't look. Don't look, please._ Cynthia's heart stops at the sight of those horrifyingly colorful walls. She can't bring herself to read the messages left behind by the spiteful public.

Glass litters the muddied floors. Signs of struggle, signs of resistance, of violence decorate the peeling cosmic motif of Headquarters.

The mess hall is trashed beyond recognition. Time had preserved the chaos in a peaceful vacuum, from the smears of something on the walls to the crushed trays strewn about the ground. Food is still on the table: a bowl of soup filled to the brim, a spoon tucked in the murky liquid that had long since grown cold.

Her shadow accompanies Cynthia as she drifts to the bedroom. She stops at the doorway and stares inside with unseeing eyes. The covers have been shredded, the room upturned by violent hands.

 _"Did you have fun today, Cynthia? Have you heard the story about…"_ That disembodied voice floats across the silence and back into the darkness of times bygone.

Cynthia almost rams her head into the door as she leaves.

She steps over the crumbled piece of metal that used to be the door. His office is in complete disarray: most things have been collected as evidence, the rest left broken or flung aside. She stands upon the trampled Galactic "G," her lone form surrounded by splintered glass, dirty footprints, and the splotches of blood that had sprayed across the metallic floor.

Cynthia drags herself to his desk. She stops and stares at the Veilstone skyline for who knows who long, letting the cold, bitter wind slap her across the face.

_Is this what you saw every day? Sitting on the top, all alone in your room? What did you often think about? When you saw me burst through that door with that finger up your throat, what thoughts went through your head?_

_How did you feel when everything was falling apart?_

Cynthia hiccups violently. The skyline blurs together into bloody colors. She immediately turns away until her heels scrape against something solid.

It's that photo from before: the one with a younger Cyrus and those mismatched people. They're standing in a park in a large city, as if they were a strange little family. She carefully wipes the footprints off the picture and places what's left of his treasured memory back on his desk.

Something slips from behind the frame. Her hands tremble as she scoops the piece of paper off the floor.

It's the old but well-kept photo of that ugly yellow house in Sunyshore. The one with those three palm trees. A grinning girl was hugging the boy as the bat, the crow, and the land shark squished against him with smiles on their faces.

It was just another day in summer, a day where she fulfilled her promise of taking that picture with him. It wasn't just because the old man asked her to—she also wanted to burn that memory into her mind.

Because at that time, they all believed that everything would be all right. They believed that the future was still bright.

The next thing she knows, Cynthia is slumped against the dent on his desk with the picture grasped tightly in her chest. It somehow manages to slip from her grip. She scrambles for the memory, never minding the glass that cuts her fingers.

What else had she let slip from her very grasp? Just what else— _who else--_ had she foolishly betrayed because of her delusions of grandeur? Because she incorrectly thought she was wasting her time with someone undeserving of it?

Someone like him.

And everything everything fell apart because of her decision.

Rain plinks against the floor. Big, fat drops defile his smile, and there's nothing she can do to fix what she had so irreversibly broken.

_Oh Arceus… just what have I done?_


	22. The World's Counterattack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia reflects on some bad life decisions. Grandma should sign up to be a motivational speaker.

The old lady knows something is wrong when she opens the door, and her granddaughter almost falls face-first onto the floor.

"Cynthia!" Grandma searches behind that mess of hair for her granddaughter's face.

And she gasps. _So much for bringing good news home._

Grandma's Chingling squeaks as she hoists Cynthia to her feet. The sky is a dour orange, painting thick shadows down Cynthia's haggard face… down whatever's left in those eyes that see nothing.

"You did something stupid again, didn't you?" Grandma mutters as she helps Cynthia to her room. The young woman immediately collapses into her bed.

"Cynthia, Cynthia…" Grandma dabs a towel to the girl's face. The cloth is drenched upon contact. "You have to take better care of yourself."

Then she notices the slip of paper clutched tightly in Cynthia's hands. Grandma only purses her lips but says nothing.

Chingling whimpers, burying its head into the old lady's plume of hair. Grandma sighs. "All right, Cynthia. Let me know if you need anything."

Cynthia might've nodded. As the sun begins to plummet into the darkening clouds, the house gradually feels more unfamiliar. Foreign. The musty smell of herbs is tainted by the stench of regret.

"I was wrong, Grandma."

Grandma turns. Her granddaughter is still grasping that photo as if she can't bear to let it slip from her hands. She's grasping it so tightly that her bleeding hands are trembling.

"We all make mistakes, Cynthia," the old lady says softly. _But is this what the girl needed to hear? No one can tell._ "I'll get something for your hands. Just rest."

"Okay." Cynthia's voice is small. And when Grandma blinks, she sees a girl on the woman's bed. That small bundle of energy from younger days. But right now, this girl's sunny smile is long gone, her tear-drenched face only a superficial indication of a much deeper wound.

Then Grandma closes the door. She leans against the wood. It would be a cruel lie to pretend that the tormented sobs coming from the other side was just a figment of her imagination.

* * *

That night, the moon is high in the sky. High, mighty, sitting upon the throne of star-lit clouds, looking down on the faded sun.

Cynthia immediately turns away. She shuts her eyes, but she still sees them. Those memories. Of him. She lifts her gaze to the drawer, to the pulsating White Moonstone… to the photo of that ugly yellow house with the three trees.

_"It was a pleasure to finally meet you,"_ he had said after her defeat at Celestic Town. That's when he was close enough for her to glimpse his wintry eyes. And yet, her heart heard something else. Something about that statement that her brain simply refused to accept.

_"It was a pleasure to finally see you again."_

Cynthia buries her face into the blankets. The damn light's too bright, but if she closes the curtains, the darkness is too overpowering. Once she falls in, she'll never get out.

_"At one point in my life, I considered you my friend,"_ he had said, knowing full well she would dismiss him as a pathological liar. He knew full well she finally had enough of his shit and was content to just let him rot.

And then she thinks back to his promises. All the tiny, insignificant details she took for granted… all the minute, meaningful things he still remembered.

_"Do you have Lemonade instead?"_ Shirona had said when they were still together on the beach at Sunyshore.

_"Lemonade!"_ Cynthia had accepted his gift with glee at Valor Lakefront. _"How'd you know it was my favorite?"_ And he just shrugged, as if it's just a passing whim.

_"We also have non-dairy options,"_ he had said when they had breakfast together for the first time. When they finally sat down and had a meal together since the days at the ugly yellow house.

Back when that house was still warm and familiar. _"You should cook for me someday,"_ the girl had said as she dabbed the milk from her nose.

And when the woman awoke, he was right there with a tray of the saltiest chicken soup and the sweetest slice of gateau this side of Mt. Coronet.

That's when Cynthia thinks back to her promises… those empty words of nothing but hot air.

_"You emotionless freak!"_ she'd spat in his face when they were still in that suffocating white room. When she towered over him, and the space between them was too immeasurable to even comprehend.

 _"You heartless robot! Your manipulative bastard!"_ Back when he was just another problem she had no time for. A waste of the Hero of Sinnoh's energy.

And the worst part was, he didn't lift a finger to correct her. He just sat there and took it. Took it, absorbed it as if it was the truth and nothing more.

 _"Why would he tell you, his enemy, all that damming information?"_ Looker had pressed when he pulled Cynthia aside at Mystifying Forest.

_Why did he tell me what I wanted to hear after I answered his questions? His questions… about my well-being. And he fulfilled his side of the bargain, telling me all I wanted to know… after I assured him I was unharmed._

_"Forget him."_ Cynthia looks up to see the Hero of Sinnoh on the edge of her bed. Moonlight adorns the Champion in a shroud of white, almost rendering her untouchable. _"He's a monster. A cunning, manipulative criminal. So what does it matter if you knew him when he was—surprisingly--a boy? He still committed a crime… the worst of all crimes. He has to face the consequences."_

 _"He saved you."_ Shirona crawls to Cynthia's side. The girl's eyes are soft and vulnerable. _"His plans would've worked if he'd just left you to die at Foggy Forest. He protected you, Cynthia. He protected all of us."_

 _Oh._ Maybe… maybe he _was_ the one that had always protected her… instead of the other way around. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be here today… she wouldn't have the chance to apprehend him in the first place. Him asking to accompanying her at Crystal Cave wasn't to nab the Time Gear… no… it was to keep whatever lurking evil in there at bay.

He protected her in his sad, clumsy way, all while she remained completely oblivious.

_And it only hurt him in the end._

But the Hero shakes her head. _"You're falling for his evil schemes again, Cynthia."_ Her voice is fading, despite the harshness of tone. _"Remember: he's a nihilistic freak. He can't feel emotions. His misguided notions about friendship are just delusions of his messed-up brain. He's not human like you and me, Cynthia. That creep is a fucking psychopath."_

 _"How can you say that about him?!"_ Shirona screams, flinging herself at the mighty Hero, only to be swept aside by a dismissive hand. The girl falls back on the bed, but she quickly sits up and glares at the glowering deity. _"Stop lying to yourself! You know that's not true!"_

 _"You're just a stupid little girl!"_ The Champion snaps. _"You don’t know anything! The meats and cheeses are touching because of your damn interference!_

 _"Cynthia!"_ Said woman jolts. _"You're the Champion of Sinnoh! A figurehead to your people! Wear you title with pride! It's your duty to apprehend sociopaths like him! Why are you faltering? It's never bothered you before! Forget what you saw back at that house—the old man's not even living in the present anymore!_

_"Just go back to the way things were before this whole mess!"_

_"Why do you keep denying what's right in front of you?"_ Shirona's phantom hand squeezes Cynthia's own. _It's cold._ _"Look at how he treated you! Look at what he sacrificed for you! We at least owe him an apology!!"_

_"We don't owe that **freak** anything!"_

Then both the girl and the Hero turn to Cynthia, their unfamiliar eyes bearing into her rioting heart. The room grows brighter, blinding her in a wash of cold radiance.

_"In the end, it's up to you, Cynthia,"_ the Champion says. _"Will you uphold your obligation as Hero and bring that rotten criminal to justice?"_

 _"Or will you follow the heeds of your desperate heart?"_ Shirona says. _"Either way, you'll still be turning your back against something."_

And then the two phantoms dissipate in a cloud of fog, leaving Cynthia alone in her ambivalent thoughts.

When sleep finally comes, Cynthia realizes something. It's such a tiny detail that would've been ignored completely if those two hadn't come back to berate her.

Back then… back at Celestic Town, when she basically told him to fuck off.

Back at the Veilstone Headquarters, when she stormed into his office and called him a manipulative freak. When his Commanders were taken away, when Crobat was shot down before his eyes.

Back at their first game of Good Cop, Bad Cop, when she assured him that no one would miss him, no one would even spare a damn if something were to happen to him.

And back at Crystal Cave, when she only went to him after she couldn't bear to ignore it anymore. After he'd been pushed around without her even batting an eye. After he succumbed to same injury that he'd avenged for her all those years ago.

There was an emotion. A particular emotion that stirs up a bitter storm within her bosom. It was something her defiant heart had simply refused to acknowledge, back when she still had the luxury to stand by his side. Instead, she just turned away… and never looked back.

_"I wouldn't know anything about it, but if your friend sees you now… he must be happy."_

That voice, as soft as lapping waves against the golden shores of the beach, is but a fleeting dream now. She sees his face, resigned and despairing, when he finally surrendered to the truth. And the hurt. The hurt in those dead, empty eyes when he finally saw his childhood friend as the Hero of Sinnoh, and that's when the bridge to the past erupted into an all-consuming fire.

* * *

"Please, ma'am. I just have a few questions—"

"I don't care what you whippersnappers want! She ain't here!"

"Ma'am, please wait! I'm—"

"You think flashing a shiny badge will get this old gal to budge? Let me see a warrant with the judge's signature!"

Looker drags a hand through his hair. "Ma'am! This is a matter of national—"

"It's okay, Grandma." That voice stops Looker cold. He peers behind the old woman's shoulders, only glimpsing locks of golden hair from the crack in the door.

_That's not… had she always sounded like that?_

The old lady scowls. "Go back to bed."

Stairs creaking. Floorboards groaning as feet maneuvers across the floor. A hushed conversation between the elder and whoever she's talking to.

Looker waits. And then the door opens fully to reveal an unfamiliar woman. He just stares back, mouth agape.

"Looker." _No way… is that really…?_ "You needed to talk to me?"

The Detective continues to stand there, his face frozen in shock. The town elder huffs and storms inside the house, muttering something about ungrateful whippersnappers under her breath.

"Looker," the woman with golden curls repeats in an all too familiar voice that fails to reach his memory.

Then finally after who knows how long, Looker wretches his attention back to the present. "Cynthia?" he whispers.

The woman only nods.

* * *

"Don't mind Grandma." The woman named Cynthia redirects Looker's attention back to her face. In the house of herbs and memories, it's difficult to focus on anything tangible.

"I'm watching you." The little woman slides a cup of hot milk to Cynthia and slams a bottle of Moomoo milk to Looker.

"T-Thank you." The Detective doesn’t touch the offering. And neither does Cynthia. In fact, all the woman does is stare at him with the emptiest set of eyes Looker had ever seen.

_No. I've seen this look before. On him…_

Looker tries again. "Cynthia?"

"Yes?" Her voice lacks any substance.

Looker clears his throat. He fiddles with his fingers. "Where have you been, Cynthia? I went back to the League, but they told me you weren't there. In fact, you never came back since last I saw you."

A shadow passes through Cynthia's already darkened face. She turns so her bangs form a shield between them. "How'd you find me, Looker?"

"I'm an agent of INTERPOL, Cynthia." Looker breathes through his teeth to keep his wits about him.

_"Just answer my question, Cynthia,"_ he wants to say, knowing full well she won't do it.

So he tries a different approach. "Time's frozen again." A pause. "Near the vicinity of Route 218… almost encroaching to Canalave City. The strange thing is, there's no Time Gear around that area. The reports came flying in not too long ago either…"

Looker's hand hovers over his scalp. "I went there to check, Cynthia. And it was horrifying… the tides have stilled completely… and the Pokemon have all disappeared. The sun was still there, but _nothing_ was reflecting off the water's surface. Everything just… stopped. It's just like at Mystifying Forest, Cynthia… but I have this feeling that things have gotten much, much worse…

"We had to evacuate all of Canalave City to Jubilife City… but we might be looking at a mass evacuation in the future, if the paralysis continues to spread eastward… It's not a matter of _if_ anymore, Cynthia. It's a matter of _when."_

Looker waits for a reaction. He almost misses her voice at first.

"What about Byron?"

"He's at Oreburgh. With his son." Looker laces his hands, his worry growing by the second.

Then after much careful deliberation, Looker steadies himself before heading straight to the reason he even came for in the first place.

"Team Galactic is pinned as the culprit behind the region's paralysis. Their escaped leader is the prime suspect in this investigation."

Cynthia snaps back in her chair. The gasp that escapes her throat is too heart-wrenching that Looker has turn away. He braces himself before slipping that wanted poster across the table.

"I don't know where these came from." Looker's wretches his eyes to the piece of paper. He clears his throat to no avail. And the woman is staring at the poster as if touching it means certain death. "I was coming back from Canalave when I saw this in Veilstone. Then I happened across Hearthome… Pastoria…

"These things were everywhere, Cynthia. I was too late. Things have gotten way out of hand."

Cynthia's head is down. Her shoulders are squeezed against her torso as if it's her last defense against the outside world. Looker feels a set of judgmental eyes burning into his skull from the kitchen. 

The Detective stills his unsteady breathing and continues, "INTERPOL has taken full control of this case. They've put a national call for his arrest… and they're currently in the process of issuing a bounty for his head.

"They call him the Enemy of Sinnoh now… Public Enemy Number One " Looker pretends not to hear the horrible sounds coming from under that head of hair. Pretends not to feel the cold chill in his chest. "And according to protocol, I have to represent INTERPOL's decision to the public… and since time had frozen after Cyrus escaped, they aren't budging on their story."

Looker takes a deep breath before speaking. "All officers were given permission to shoot upon sight if they deem it necessary."

Cynthia's hands fly to her chest. When she looks up, Looker winces and looks away. "You can't—!" She's close to screaming, but her voice is barely there. "No, you—"

"I'm sorry." Looker can't even hear his own voice. "I… I have to follow protocol, Cynthia. It's my job. It's the reason I even came to Sinnoh in the first place."

Cynthia's chest is heaving. Then when she speaks, it feels as if someone had plunged their claw into his chest and tore out his heart.

"I thought you cared about him, Detective."

The man's chest grows heavier until it's suddenly hard to breathe. "I-I don't…" But he can't say it. Can't even force the words. Can't even look at Cynthia dead in the eye.

"I want to know the truth," Looker mutters. _Hey. It's not a lie._

Cynthia's lips wilt. _Why is she so jumpy today? Arceus forbid, but had she been crying? And if so, over what? What could've reduced the once untouchable Champion, the unbeatable Hero of Sinnoh to…_

_To a frail little girl?_

"Truth about what, Detective?" Her words are delivered with deliberate harshness.

Looker drops his gaze. Try as he might, he still couldn't forget about _that._ About that scared, pitiful boy in the interrogation room… about that genuine smile of despair on the man's lips when he finally abandoned all hope.

A heavy silence presses on the suffocating air. Somewhere in the miasma, a Chingling cries, only to be silenced by the watchful old woman.

"You were right about Crystal Cave."

Looker's neck creaks loudly in protest when he jolts in his chair. Cynthia is still staring at him, grim and horrifyingly patient.

"W-What?"

Cynthia closes her eyes. She straightens, the power of the Champion of Sinnoh returning to her shoulders. "Someone was out to get him back at Crystal Cave. It's the same person who attacked me on Victory Road. And Charon's accomplice was probably the same person who sabotaged your Operation, Looker."

Looker blinks, and he quickly scrambles for anything that can be a tangible grip on reality. Everything he'd learned about being a righteous, outstanding cop of the law is suddenly crumpled up and tossed out the window.

"Who?" Looker gasps.

Cynthia makes sure to hold his gaze when she answers him. "I think you know all too well, Detective. I can't believe Dialga slipped its minion into the Elite Four like that, and we never suspected a thing."

* * *

She gives him a minute. Two. Three. It drags on for a couple more. The sun is still high in the sky, and yet, the house of old herbs suddenly feels cold to the bone.

Grandma gasps from the kitchen. Chingling yelps. Thankfully, they choose to let Cynthia finish her business with the policeman.

Cynthia steadies her chest. She gives him five more minutes before whipping her hand across his face.

"Wha-a-a-a-a what the hell?!" Looker shakes his head until clarity slaps him again. He jerks forward and gapes at her like a freshly-caught Magikarp.

Reason strikes not twice, but thrice.

Looker chokes on a long, painful gasp. "That's n-not… no, that's…" But it's not from denial. "You're not serious. Please tell you're… If-if that's true, then that person's been on this damn case since the very beginning!"

Cynthia curls her fists until her nails almost draws blood. "I know," she murmurs, too soft for anyone to hear. "I also didn't want to believe it… until it happened. Until it actually happened."

The Detective fumbles for his notebook. It slips from his grip the first time, and he has to awkwardly bend to pick it up. "C-Cynthia. Are you sure? Positive?"

"Yes." A deep breath. "I remember everything now."

The notebook falls again. Looker looks almost desperate now.

"You did?" the grown man squeaks. Cynthia nods, much to his horror.

"I was also investigating why time suddenly stopped even before the Time Gear at Treeshroud Forest was taken. And those mystical relics sounded too fishy to overlook." Cynthia keeps her hands over her trembling knees. She has to be very careful on how she words the next part. "But before I could confirm my suspicions, I was attacked, losing my memories in the process."

Looker slowly brings his gaze back to the present. "Where… where did this happen?"

"Some tiny place off the map," Cynthia says, honoring Uxie's promise. Honoring _his_ deeds.

Looker's hand lays on his head. "You… so you bumped your head after that person attacked you because you were close to finding the truth… and it's the same person from your own circle…"

"Yes."

"Oh no." Looker is shaking his head. "But if that's true, then you're in grave danger, Cynthia! You've been working with someone that has it out for you! Why…" The blood drains from the Detective's face. "Wait. When you said I was right about Crystal Cave, you mean Charon's accomplice…"

"Yes." She remembers Charon's proclamation about her meddling interfering Dialga's grander goal. She remembers the policewoman's words… remembers the Commanders' woeful tales about it being too late to save him.

Looker's hands are pressed against his face. "Oh Arceus." His mind is faraway right now. "So back then…" He frowns. "Wait. But why? Why did that person do it?"

"Dialga." That name sends hot blood snaking down her heart. "Dialga is real. There _is_ such a thing as the God of Time." _Uxie told me so._ "Dialga is responsible for the recent phenomena… We're only feeling the ripple effects of whatever's happening up there. The flow of time has gotten so bad here that Dialga's managed to hijack human minds to do its bidding."

And sure enough, Detective Looker is looking at her as if she'd suddenly turned into a Pokemon. "B-But, Cynthia… Are you sure? You're saying it as if you've met Dialga in person…"

"I'm sure," she snaps. "I remember." _Uxie affirmed it. And Uxie is real._ "I know. What we're dealing with here doesn't concern just the human world anymore." _Pokemon can talk, damn it! Even Garchomp and Crobat knew of the story behind the Time Gears!_ "We're dealing with a mythical Pokemon that's all too real, Looker. The Time Gears are just a secondary part of the bigger picture."

"Cynthia…"

Her lips tighten. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"It's not that." He shoves his notes aside. "Cynthia. Look at me. I've been through a lot of Tauros-crap ever since I got assigned to Sinnoh. I've seen the truth—what I thought was the clean-cut truth—blow up in front of my face. I don't think I have the right to judge you anymore, Cynthia.

"But do you really think INTERPOL will take your story? Where's your evidence, Cynthia? Where's the cold, hard proof? The TV stations will use it for the hype, and also because you're a figurehead to Sinnoh—"

Cynthia snaps her jaw a bit too loudly.

"—You still need the proof, Cynthia. Say I believe you. Dialga's an actual living thing. Where does it reside? What does it really look like? I'm not making fun of you in any way, Cynthia, but INTERPOL isn't budging on their current lead that Cyrus was the mastermind—"

Looker suddenly gasps, causing Cynthia to choke on her spit. "Wait." He scrambles for his notebook and frantically flips through the pages. "You said that the mole in the Elite Four caused your memory loss, right? And you're certain of that?"

"Yes. Why?"

Looker's grey eyes are wide and bright. "Then if they abandoned you on site, who was it that rescued you?"

Cynthia's lungs stop functioning altogether. She just stares at Looker. He stares back, and a silent understanding passes through the two of them.

The man squeezes his temples until a faint bruise can be seen under the cracks of his fingers. "Damn it!" Cynthia flinches at his tone. "I should've known something was off when he suddenly…"

"L-Looker?" _What the hell is he talking about?_

Said man shoves the notebook into her face. "Look at this, Cynthia. Right here. His confession. See? He admitted to using Crobat's Supersonic to render you incapacitated, after which he shoved you down a rock ledge!"

_"WHY?"_ Shirona shrieks, causing the back of Cynthia's head to explode into pain. _"WHY WOUD YOU SAY THAT, AKAGI?! WHY THE HECK DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS TO YOURSELF??!!"_

"He told me he did that because you were a hindrance to his ambitions. Looked me straight in the eye as he said that too. It did cross my mind that that he wasn't telling the truth. I mean, that doesn't fit his _modus operandi_ at all." He grits his teeth. "But I dismissed that, of course. Because back then, I just wanted it to be an open-and-close case where the villain was apprehended and everyone can live happily ever after." 

His hand drags a violent line through his hair. "Damn it! What else am I getting completely wrong here?!"

"Looker!" Cynthia doesn't mean to shout, but she did. The man winces and gapes at her. She immediately ducks her head, retreating behind her curtain of gold, the only partition between her and the rest of this cruel world.

The silence that follows is deafening.

"Damn it all." Looker shoves his notepad into his pockets and puts his head in his hands. "I thought this mission would be simple enough. Just investigate this Cyrus of Team Galactic, 27-year old corporate leader and expose his true face. Easy enough. I've dealt with hardier types than him.

"But then time stopped. How did the simple conception of hours and minutes just… stop like that? And then this mythical Pokemon's hijacking brains to do whatever evil plan it has, and there's your dilemma, and we don't even know if Cyrus is even alive!"

"He is," Shirona and Cynthia say. "He won't give up so easily like that."

_I know he won't._

Looker clicks his teeth. "So what will you do now, Cynthia?" he grunts after a pause. "It's too dangerous to go back to the League, now that you remember your assailant's face."

"I'll stay here with Grandma."

"You bet you will!" the old lady yells from the kitchen.

Looker rubs his chin. "Yes… that sounds like the best plan of action right now. You stay low. I'll investigate the League—"

"No." He frowns. "Looker, if that person suspects that I remember everything, there's no telling what will happen. The traitor's long been involved with Charon even before Victory Road… and took my Poke balls to keep me from the truth. If you begin poking around, the others might get hurt."

The Detective exhales sharply into his palm. "So what do I _do_ , Cynthia?"

"That's a question for you and me both," she murmurs. Then she straightens. "I need some time to think. Would you mind doing me another favor, Looker? Would you mind keeping an eye on things back at the League? I'm sure the others are very worried, but I can't…"

_I can't face them now._

Looker frowns, but he eventually nods. "All right. I do owe you one, after all. I'll just tell them you're investigating stuff on your own."

Cynthia smiles. _A mere smile is just one of the things I've taken for granted, isn't it?_ "Thank you, Looker."

"Sure." The Detective stands. She follows suit. "As for me, I suppose I'll be stuck investigating Cyrus's trail." _Or lack thereof_ , she hears. "Everyone believes that he's the root cause of this whole mess… and if he's stopped, then time will fix itself again…"

Cynthia watches him destroy the wanted poster into paper machete. "But what do _you_ think, Looker?"

The man stops before the doorway. From that look in his eyes, she already knows the answer. Yet out loud, he mutters, "Too much is happening. I need time to think through all this too. I'm only human, Cynthia."

"Yes. Aren't we all." Cynthia escorts him outside. The two of them are immediately greeted by cloudless skies and warm sunshine. 

"STOP!" Only one person can make even the most brash of whippersnappers wince like that. Grandma hurries to the duo and plants a bottle of Moomoo milk into Looker's arms. He just stares at her.

"Do what it is you have to do, boy." Grandma puts her hands on her hips. "I see the conviction in your eyes. You know full well what you want to do. Do it! JUST DO IT!"

Looker gasps. Cynthia can see the light returning to his eyes, the familiar spark of vigor of the man who first introduced himself as an agent of INTERPOL from a time long, long ago.

"Thank you, ma'am!" Looker bobs his head excitedly. "I'll keep that in mind. I... Thank you."

"You're back, Looker." Cynthia crosses her arms with a teasing smirk.

"You too, Cynthia." As Looker begins to leave, he turns to wave back. "Take care, Elder. And Cynthia. Keep in touch, all right?"

"Of course. Let me know if anything happens."

Grandma and granddaughter watch the retreating back of the Detective vanish into the fog. Then the old woman turns and elbows Cynthia in the hip.

"You got yourself some very good friends, kid." Grandma throws her head back and emits a contagious, hearty laugh. "Cherish them always. Be grateful to what you have, for a seed of gratitude will blossom into a flower of hope."

* * *

As Cynthia waits eagerly for updates, she and Looker have been meeting on-and-off in the little town in the middle of nowhere. He assured her that the League was doing fine, and they were unaware of anything that's deemed suspicious.

The hunt for the escaped Team Galactic Boss had reached even the ears at Celestic Town. Fortunately, Grandma is very good at asserting her dominance to keep the pesky press at bay. And maybe it's a good thing this backwards town refused to catch up with technology… they could remain blissfully unaware of the tumultuous outside world while living in the comforting embrace of olden ways.

_Grandma was right. I have so much to be grateful for._

While she ponders on her next course of action, Cynthia often helps the local townsfolk. They were all too happy to see the girl again, and even more elated that she would be staying for a while longer.

"We haven't seen you since you left to become a Pokemon Trainer!" they would say as they welcomed her back into their arms.

This was indeed the only place where she can feel truly safe. No one in their right minds would hike to this fog-ridden town while police is literally crawling in every corner.

The one day, Cynthia is helping in the Herb Shop until a customer walks in. It shouldn't have been noteworthy, but it's still a rare sight for a lone woman to have come all the way here in the midst of a national emergency.

"Welcome!" the owner of the shop says, a balding man with thick glasses.

"Howdy! Do you mind if I look around?"

"No, of course not! Let me know if you have any questions, young lady."

Cynthia would've ignored that interaction altogether if her blood didn't suddenly run cold. She latches herself into the shadows of the backroom and peers out the doorway, all while that bitter taste is swelling to her mouth.

"You're too young to be walking around by yourself, especially in these dire times," the old man is saying. "Did you come with your dad?"

"Hmm? He's sick right now." The young woman bounces on her heels as she peruses the collection of herbs. "Hey, old man. Do you have anything for burns?"

"I'm sorry to hear that. Of course we have treatments for burns." The man gestures to the section of musty medicine. "How severe is it?"

"Um. Well…" Cynthia notices the burlap sack around the woman's shoulder, filled to the brim with bottles of the familiar green liquid. "Quite severe. Massively severe." She gestures for emphasis.

The man raises a bushy brow. "Poor Pokemon! It must've been quite a powerful attack."

"Yes." The woman's mouth is set in a tight line. It's strange to not see her usual grin. "Um… old man? Do you have anything… not as expensive?"

"I'm sorry. All our herbs are locally grown, and all profits go back to the townspeople."

"Oh, boo." The woman fidgets with her shawl. "That's no good… Where else do they sell…"

Cynthia utters a name. Her voice is soft enough not to attract unwanted attention, but loud enough to reach her target.

The customer's eye twitches.

Cynthia repeats that word, this time with all its implications and meanings.

And sure enough, Mars’s lips immediately wilt when her eyes meet those of the damn Hero of Sinnoh's.


	23. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many familiar faces... Her journey has finally come to an end. 
> 
> ...Or has it?

The woman named Mars watches Cynthia sliding a handful of Poke across the counter. She watches as the old man raises a brow but nevertheless collects the money and gives the priceless herb to the Hero of Sinnoh.

"It's yours." Cynthia presents the gift of life to the former Galactic Commander with a timid, disarming smile. "You… you need this, right?"

Mars's lips unlatch, but no sound escapes. Her hand hovers over the much-needed cure until her other hand slaps her wrist. The young woman mutters something, her knuckles tightening over the burlap sack until they turn white.

"Wait!" Cynthia yells when Mars bolts out the door. The former dashes out the Herb Shop, glancing around until she spots the red flash of hair in the distance.

"Please, wait!" It's still early in the morning, and most of the elderly townspeople are milling around in the crisp mountain air. Cynthia rushes past these gawking folks—because to them, she's just another whippersnapper doing what she has to do.

She loses Mars in the clearing outside the Celestic Ruins, the same place where she lost to Cyrus. Cynthia stumbles across the giant chasms in the earth, maneuvering carefully across the meteorite-ravaged ground.

"Mars!" Cynthia shouts when she's certain no one else is nearby. When her own voice answers back, Cynthia calls out Garchomp.

"Garchomp, Mars is here." The land dragon swivels around with a gasp. "We need to find her! She might know where Cy—"

A vine latches to her leg and robs her of her balance. Cynthia hits the ground—hard. The vine continues to drag her along the cracked surface of the earth.

"Eenie meenie miney moe."

It's not a vine. It's a tail. A springy, powerful tail that bites into her flesh like an iron clamp. She hears Garchomp's distraught cries from somewhere in her throbbing skull.

"Catch a traitor by the toe."

The tail hauls Cynthia up into the air. Through her golden partition of hair, she sees a livid Bronzor and a scowling Golbat flanking the bewildered land dragon. Cynthia looks down to see Purugly's horrible sneer.

"If she hollers…" The child-like singing stops. Cynthia can barely contain her breath when Mars shoves her face into Cynthia's sight. Those glassy, golden eyes shoot straight through the former's tell-tale heart.

"You're not screaming yet," Mars says. "That ruins the rhyme."

"M-Mars! I—AHH!" Purugly's grip tightens around her ankle, coming close to cleaving the joints in two.

Garchomp is howling, but Mars's Pokemon are keeping the land dragon at bay. Before Cynthia can reach for her belt, Purugly yanks Cynthia upwards to the clouds.

"I see that." Mars wags a finger in Cynthia's face. "Lower your Poke balls."

Garchomp is screeching.

"Hurry up," Mars says flatly. Ominously. "Put it down. Good. You've got others, don’t you? Drop your Poke balls. All of them."

Cynthia's Pokemon stare with fright from behind their capsules. Her own vision begins to tilt as an onslaught of blood rushes to her head.

"Long time no see, Hero of Sinnoh." Mars is talking as if they were old friends. There's no mirth behind that smile, though. "I haven't seen you since you left me to rot in that sterile little cell."

"M-Mars…" Everything unpleasant is rolling up Cynthia's throat. "I-I just want to talk…"

Mars cocks her head before erupting into laughter. "Aw! You used 'please!' An untouchable, blameless deity like you used 'please' to a rotten criminal like me!"

"Mars…" _Please…_

"You don’t seem to grasp the gravity of your situation, Champion." Mars bounces on her toes, her neck bobbing side-to-side. She raises a finger to Cynthia's chin, an icy nail pressing against burning flesh.

"You're in no position to dictate me, Miss Goody-goody-never-did-anything-wrong-in-my-life." Cynthia's heart plummets. "How about I give you something that's really fun to watch? Oh! I bet you really missed losing those memories, hmm? So how about I make your wish come true?"

Cynthia can feel the blood sloshing to her eyes. Pain flares in her ankle. Garchomp gasps when Golbat presses a poison-dipped wing against the dragon's neck. Bronzor's eyes are flashing red.

"Mars, please!" Cynthia wheezes, and Mars cackles again. It's such a heart-wrenching sound. 

"How dare you belittle me like that. I'm not a stupid girl." She jabs an angry finger in the air. "I'm done playing games. Purugly! Fury Swipes!"

_Oh Arceus. Is this how everything ends?_ Cynthia squeezes her eyes. The air ripples above her skin. _I'm sorry, Grandma. I'm sorry, Looker._

_I'm sorry, Cy—_

Cynthia suddenly hits the ground. After the red blossoms stop dancing across her eyes, she lifts her head to find Mars glaring down at her. The younger woman looks almost… disappointed.

"Why?"

Cynthia clumsily pulls herself to her knees. Her ankle screams in protest.

"I don't understand." Mars recalls Bronzor and Golbat. Garchomp instantly rushes to Cynthia's side, wrapping its Trainer in a protective wing.

Mars frowns at her Purugly, but she's not angry in the slightest. "What does Master Cyrus see in you? The person who turned our lives upside down? The one who jeopardized everything we worked so hard for? Just like that, everything fell apart…"

"That's not true, Mars." That's what she wants to say. That's what should've been said.

Mars pulls the burlap bag tighter to her chest. "I never understood why Boss called us out like that. He was actually angry… he actually raised his voice… just because you didn't feel comfortable." Her face is contorting. "You, his enemy, someone he dragged back from the forest for no apparent reason, got the special treatment! Why get mad at us? I've been with him for almost a decade now! This doesn't make any sense!"

Mars barely fights back a frustrated scream. "It's not fair! Look at how he treated you! He even threatened us not to lay a finger on you! You don't need that! You already have people who love you! You have the whole world who would do anything for you!

"And what does he have? Despite all that, you had no problem kicking him around! You don't even care if he gets hurt or not! TO YOU, HE WAS JUST ANOTHER WASTE OF TIME!" Mars's chest is heaving. Her voice rings in Cynthia's raw ears. "I can't do it. I can't… even though he's not here right now, I can't dishonor his words…

"I hope you're happy, Hero." Cynthia recoils as Mars looms over the trembling Champion. Garchomp pulls its Trainer closer. Purugly is glaring at the duo like they're not worthy of even being looked at. "I can't even hurt you if I tried. I have a conscience too, you know. Just like all you other spoil-sports in this ugly world."

Cynthia finally gasps for air. The world stops spinning somewhat. "Mars, wait. I don't want to fight you!"

"Oh? You want to arrest me again, right?" Mars plants her heels on the ground. "I'm not stupid. I saw the wanted posters. So our Boss is now the _Enemy_ of Sinnoh. A monster. A criminal. And the delightful _Hero_ of Sinnoh is going to take everything away from him again."

Cynthia grips her rioting chest. _Stop! Stop it, please! That's not… That's not…!_

"Your status means nothing to me." A pebble shrieks as its life is extinguished under Mars's foot. "You already have everything. What more can you possibly take from us?"

Cynthia's mouth opens. _Stop, Cynthia,_ a familiar yet unwanted voice flutters through consciousness. _Think. One wrong move, and you'll lose your connection to finding that cri--_

"I need to talk to Cyrus."

Mars blinks. Cynthia keeps her emotions in check by steadying herself against Garchomp's body. The Galactic Commander blinks again as if her brain had suddenly stopped working.

Then Cynthia gasps. She had expected hostility from Mars's end, not… not sorrow. Not that same expression back at that room with faded white walls. The same emotion that stirs up a raging storm in Cynthia's chest.

"Still with the jokes," Mars snarls. "Purugly, prepare Hypnosis—"

"It's not a joke!" Mars frowns. Cynthia recollects her Pokemon and scrambles to her feet, wincing slightly as her ankle protests under her weight. "I'm telling the truth! I need to talk to him!"

Mars is giving Cynthia that sad, desperate look. Cynthia shifts her gaze to the burlap bag. _The Burn Heals. The heavy vials of medicine that weighs down the woman's small shoulders._

"How injured is he?" Cynthia whispers. Mars looks away.

"Mars." Cynthia presses that precious herb into Mars's trembling hands. There's nothing in the younger woman's eyes. "I can help. I know how to make medicine."

"What's in it for you?" A slight edge of something sneaks into Mars's voice. _Hope._ That small seed of gratitude blossoms into a timid flower, but flowers cannot bloom in a world without light.

Cynthia fumbles for a sense of stability. _How do I answer that…?_

 _"Lie,"_ the Champion whispers, her voice as sweet as delicious poison. _"She doesn't know. Then when the time is right, swoop in and finish this once and for all."_

 _"Cynthia…"_ Shirona has to tilt her head up to the two towering women. The girl's voice is faint.

"I need to see him," Cynthia says firmly. Shirona gasps.

_"What? No! No, Cynthia, you don't mean that!"_ The Champion's face is white and tight. _"You can't—"_ Shirona shoves the deity into the darkness and locks that door.

The rage had faded from Mars's face. Ambivalent emotions race through her mind before the woman looks up and accepts the herb from Cynthia. Purugly gently nudges her leg with a reassuring meow.

Mars wipes her eyes. "Saturn's going to kill me," she says, and her Pokemon agrees.

* * *

_"Oh no. Nononononono."_ Cynthia's Togekiss instinctively shifts away when she makes eye contact with Mars's Golbat. " _Oh no."_ The two Pokemon soar across the brightening skies, but there's nothing enlightening about this situation.

_"Cynthia's finally snapped,"_ Togekiss moans. _"Why are you meeting up with the enemy? How'd you even convince her? Why am I even here?!"_

 _"No one's making you stay,"_ Golbat hisses.

"Shh, Togekiss. It's okay." Cynthia reaches down to scratch the bird's head. The Pokemon sighs loudly. She looks up. "Thanks for letting me say bye to Grandma. Mars."

Mars hasn't blinked. Cynthia flashes a weak smile before focusing wholly on Togekiss's back. The silence is unnerving. Every hitch of breath rocks her skull. What's more daunting is how Mars just keeps staring at Cynthia without a twitch in facial muscle.

"I promise that I'm here on my own." Cynthia keeps her gaze straight ahead. She feels the shame creeping up her cheeks and prays it's not that apparent.

Mars cups the herb in her hands. "You said you can help Boss. You better make good on your promise. Or else…"

_It sounds more like a plea than a threat._

The way Golbat is flying reminds Cynthia of _his_ Crobat—how the bat bobs up and down while its Trainer remains as sober as a rock.

"Why are you helping me?" Cynthia jolts at Mars's whisper, barely audible through the stinging winds. Mars isn't looking at her—why, she's not really looking at anything. She only looks up when Cynthia replies with silence. "I don't believe in altruism. Are you doing this out of curiosity? Do you actually feel guilt for what you've done—"

_Oh Arceus._

"—but why would a Hero like you need to concern herself with a wanted criminal?"

Cynthia hides behind her hair. Mars continues, "Is it pity? Well, we don't need your pity, Champion. We never needed anything from you. I also don't want you to feel like you owe us anything either.

"So spit it out. What's the truth?" Mars's neck curves in a 90-degree angle. Golbat sighs and grumbles something under its breath.

"B-because…" Shirona gives Cynthia a reassuring squeeze of the hand. The woman straightens. "Because he was my fr—"

"Eh. Doesn't matter." Mars turns away. Cynthia bites her lips to contain that bitter taste from spilling out her mouth. "Lying on the spot must be hard for a goody-goody like you. As long as you can help the Boss, I don't care what half-baked reason you give."

"M-Mars. That's not—"

"We're here." Mars directs Golbat down to the shroud of trees: a sea of trees so thick and lush that Cynthia can't even see the ground. Then the smell hits her: the familiar smell of pollen, flowers, and sweet grass.

"I thought Floaroma Town was—"

"It's not Floaroma." Mars holds a finger to Cynthia's lips. "Shh. Just follow me." She signals Golbat down to a clearing. Once both Trainers recall their agitated Pokemon, the Galactic Commander glances around before gesturing Cynthia down a dark, hidden path.

_Hey I know this route._ Cynthia makes sure not to step on the patches of flowers as she goes. _I had to go through here because I didn't have Cut yet._ She remembers the cold air of the forest, the pale patches of sunlight leaking through the emerald ocean.

_Eterna Forest, also known as the place where time stands still._

"Stupid tree." Mars rams herself against said obstacle blocking the rusty gates. She towers over the splintered bark, arms crossed, a grin wide on her face. Cynthia quietly keeps widens her distance. 

_Oh._ The shadow silhouette of the building fades into view. _That's… the Old Chateau._

Mars presses a cold finger to Cynthia's lips. Then the former turns and raps a rhythmic pattern on the worn oak door. "Olly olly oxen free," she hums softly.

The door creaks open to reveal a narrow green eye below a head of striking blue hair. "Oh!" Cynthia recognizes that voice as the Grunt who'd served breakfast. _Feels like an eternity ago._ "Commander Mars! You're back!"

"Yup! And look! I've brought medicine and more!"

The door opens fully. More Galactic Grunts pour into the doorway at the arrival of their Commander. "What a relief!" they cry. "Now we can help the Boss!"

Several Gastly also gather above the commotion, but no one bats an eye.

The Breakfast Grunt smiles. It's a tired yet hopeful smile. "Don't just stand there, Commander! Please come in!"

"Haha… yeah… about that." Mars fiddles with the hem of her oversized shirt. "Where's Saturn and Jupiter?"

The Grunts look a bit perplexed at such a question until they notice the Hero of Sinnoh hiding behind the whistling Galactic Commander.

* * *

"What were you thinking, Mars?!" Saturn snaps, his voice slicing across the musty air. Cynthia tries to suppress the gooseflesh from blossoming down her arms and fails. Badly.

"She said she could help." Mars holds up the medicinal herb for all to see.

"We don't need her help! We've never needed her help!" Saturn slams his fist on the railing. The already weakening balcony trembles and coughs dust the floor below.

Mars stares up at the young man with calm eyes. "She knows how to make medicine, Saturn."

"I don't care!" Saturn fixes his glare onto Cynthia. _If looks can kill…_ "Did you come back to gloat? Is this what it is? You've already gotten your throne! Is taking everything away from him not enough for you?!!"

Cynthia takes a shaky step back and mutters something that sounds like an intelligent answer.

"Please calm down, sir!" squeaks a Grunt with the largest butt Cynthia had ever seen. The other Grunts murmur amongst themselves while flashing dirty glares her way.

"I. AM. CALM!!!" Saturn swats his hands with such force that his wrists almost snap backwards. He storms down the creaking stairs and into Mars's face. "I knew you were a little crazy, Mars, but I'd never thought you'd do something this insane!"

"You're the one that's mad, Saturn." Mars shoves the herb to his face. He scowls and slaps her hand away. "Look. This is magic. What we need right now is a miracle."

"But that doesn't mean we need her!" Cynthia flinches at his sharp, poisonous tone. "She's the root cause of this whole mess! It's all her fault!"

Mars sucks in a deep breath. "I know. But Saturn, none of us know how to make medicine—"

"Don’t you get it, Mars?" The veins throb in his neck. Spittle is frothing in his mouth. "Wake up! Because of you, the police are coming any minute now! How are we going to move him?!"

"I'm here by myself—"

"I wasn't talking to you!" Saturn's lips twist into a disgusted sneer at the woman who dared to intervene. Cynthia gasps and immediately withdraws behind her dull yellow curtains. "Don't you ever get sick of lying? We all know about the wanted posters. We all know you people think that Master Cyrus was the one responsible for everything bad that's happening! Every. Single. Thing!!"

Cynthia has her palms pressed against her lips. Oh Arceus, does she feel… _ugly._

"That herb has special healing properties," Cynthia manages to whisper. Saturn's jaw is tight, as if he'd swallowed something unpleasant. "Since ancient times, it's been an invaluable ingredient for creating ointments."

She takes a deep, shaky breath. The Grunts's eyes are cutting into her back. "A-and it wasn't Mars's fault. I persisted—" _begged_ "—her to bring me here. I… I know he's gravely injured. The sooner we treat him, the sooner Cyrus will get better."

His name catches in her throat. Silence answers her. A silence that's heavier than the usual dead air of the Old Chateau.

Saturn sucks in a painful breath that rattles his teeth. An act that pulls his shoulders inwards and contorts his face. "Why do you keep acting as though you care about him?" he snarls, and Cynthia flinches. "Stop it! It's… it's embarrassing! Just say you're out to arrest him again! To throw him into a hole for him to rot!"

"Saturn!" Mars nabs a fistful of skin from Saturn's arm and twists. He howls, choking on his own spit. _It does look like it hurts._ "Saturn, Da—Boss hasn't woken up for weeks now! We need the medicine! If we're too late, he might…"

Mars doesn't need to finish her sentence. The Grunts lower their heads. The spiteful flames die in Saturn's eyes. He gnashes his teeth and glares daggers into the rusty floorboards.

"What's in it for you?" His voice cracks through the air like hammer on glass.

"Nothing," Cynthia says. Mars doesn't look at her. "I don't expect any compensation."

Saturn's fists are shaking. "It's not fair," he growls. "Why you? It's always you… Why is the only person that can help him have to be you…? I don't understand…"

"That's enough." A hand lands on each of the Commander's shoulder. Everyone gawks at the older woman.

"J-Jupiter," Cynthia squeaks.

"It's you again," Jupiter says flatly. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Why should I be surprised anymore?"

Cynthia attempts to say something before her lips glue themselves together on their own accord.

"Cyrus needs his rest," Jupiter says after a silence. "You two are making a commotion. I don't like it either, but if the Hero offers her assistance, we might as well not waste her time, right?"

"But—"

"Saturn." He shuts up. "Everything we've tried hasn't worked. If this drags on for much longer, Arceus forbid Mars might be right…" She inhales sharply. Cynthia can barely hear them over the pounding blood in her head.

"Grunts, prepare the kitchen for the Hero of Sinnoh. Saturn, Mars, be on standby in case she needs assistance."

Jupiter beckons the woman forward. "Cynthia, can you come here please? Yes, stand right here. How are you feeling today?"

"Um. Good, thank—"

Jupiter's hand flies across Cynthia's face. The latter stumbles back until she loses her balance. Her cheeks are burning, and it's not from the slap. She pulls her coat above her head to drown the _smack!_ that's still ringing in her ears.

A speck of dust falls from somewhere in the Chateau, screaming as it shatters into oblivion.

"C-Commander Jupiter!" the Grunts stammer, their jaws hanging off their chins. "M-Master Cyrus warned—"

"I don't care what he said." Jupiter absently messages her wrists. She shoots a glance behind her shoulder before focusing her flinty gaze to the trembling woman on the floor. "He's too soft. That's what got him into this mess in the first place."

Jupiter brushes the loose hair from her eyes and approaches Cynthia. The latter blearily looks up. "Well, Hero?" the Galactic Commander says. "Are you just going to sit there and cry? Quit wasting our time and save him."

* * *

_"What are you reading, Shirona?"_

_The boy's voice drew her attention away from his face. More specifically, the glittering sunset in his eyes. The girl made some lame excuse and held the book up as a shield. She didn't understand why her cheeks were stinging like crazy._

_"It's Grandma's special herbal remedies." Her voice was more high-pitched than usual. "She's great at making medicine."_

_Cynthia handed him the tome. The boy brightened as he flipped through the yellowed pages. His lips parted slightly, and she realized that he was reciting the messy scrawls in a fascinated whisper. She listened as his words rose and fell with each heave of the chest._

_"This is amazing, Cynthia!" Akagi's face was absolutely radiant. "These details are phenomenal! And these illustrations! Did your grandmother put together this book on her own? This rivals even the most complex of refrigerator manuals!"_

_Cynthia tore her gaze away before her heart could explode. "It's okay." As the sun shimmered in the sky, she hummed a little tune as she dangled her legs in the air. People and Pokemon passed the two children sitting on the bench. "Grandma's forcing me to learn this stuff. It's so boring, Akagi."_

_Akagi frowned slightly. "I don't think it's boring, Shirona," he muttered, gaze downcast. "Your grandmother put a lot of effort into this book. I can tell she's very proud of her profession."_

_Cynthia looked at him and grinned when she saw the familiar tug in his lips. It's like that every time he found something very fascinating. "I guess. But I won't need to know how to mix herbs when I become a Pokemon Trainer. Don't they have Potions and stuff?"_

_"Yes..." She's still staring at him. Akagi raised his brow until his eyes crinkled, and he pressed his hands against his mouth when a shy laugh escaped his throat. The boy gently closed the book and handed it back to her. "But you might need this information someday, Cynthia. A Champion must be prepared for anything that comes her way."_

_"You worry too much." The girl nudged his arm with a wink. "Fine. I'll give it a try. And when I do, Cyrus, I'll bring some for you to taste!"_

* * *

Cynthia's mind snaps back to the present when she spots that red head of hair peeking from the door. The older woman rubs her eyes and gives Mars a weak smile. The latter doesn't return the sentiment.

"Hello, Mar—"

"Is it done?" Mars's voice is low.

"Y-yes. This ailment has a soothing agent that relieves pain, alleviating the inflammation caused by—"

"So it works!" Mars is bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Come on, come on, come on!! Let's go!" She reminds Cynthia of a little girl waiting to be picked up from school.

Saturn is glowering at Cynthia when Mars brings her to the door. It's a plain, unmarked door. Nothing special, save for the mass of Gastly that peers at the humans with curious eyes.

"Saturn!" Mars wraps her arms around the surprised young man. "The medicine's here, Saturn! We'll finally see him again! He'll finally wake up!"

The words make Cynthia's heart feel oh so heavy.

Saturn clasps his hands under his chin, almost like a silent prayer. "Oh thank Arceus… it's been so long… Please let it work…"

The door opens and out pokes Jupiter's head. And that smell. Cynthia's stomach heaves as memory draws association to the root of such a smell… and that origin was when she came across his cell after returning from Fogbound Forest.

_The smell of burnt human flesh._

"Is the medicine ready?" Jupiter stares at the magical vial in Cynthia's hands. All three Commanders exchange a silent message before Jupiter opens the door and ushers them in.

But before Cynthia can step over the doorway, a purple bullet hurls into her face, its fangs centimeters away from penetrating her neck.

"Crobat!" Jupiter yanks the Pokemon back and traps it in her arms. The bat shrieks, its small body quaking with each cry. Cynthia should've looked away, but when her eyes catches the bandages around its head, the mask she'd built for herself comes crumbling down into the earth.

"They haven't slept," Mars mutters as she holds a thrashing Weavile in place. "They've been watching him."

Saturn is silent as he locks Honchkrow in a grip… but his hands will slip ever so slightly before he scowls and looks his head away.

"Go away!" Beyond the door to this room, the Grunts are chasing after the nosy Gastly and Haunter. "Shoo! Stay away from him!"

"Hurry up, Hero," Jupiter growls.

Cynthia pushes through the partition of Pokemon and Galactic Commanders to the lone bed in the corner of the room. She shoves aside the veil of darkness… and freezes.

She thought she was prepared. She thought that, after everything she'd went through, she could at least face him again with some dignity.

"Hero!" The Commanders' voices are somewhere else now. Lost in another galaxy far, far away. She can't even hear her own breathing. Can't even feel her own sluggish heartbeat.

She thought she was prepared. Oh Arceus she really did.

No one could've predicted that their reunion would be her staring down at whatever's left of the Enemy of Sinnoh… the very person who happens to be her childhood friend from once upon a time.

* * *

Togekiss nudges Cynthia's hand again. No response. The bird pecks at the woman's kneecaps. Still nothing.

"What's with her, Garchomp?" Togekiss mutters as she peers into Cynthia's unblinking eyes.

"Uxie knew." Togekiss gives a curious glance to the land dragon. The latter's mind is faraway. "That's what Uxie meant then…"

Togekiss frowns. She hops to Garchomp and strikes the dragon with a mighty wing. "What's the matter with you two? You're acting as if you've lost your souls!"

Garchomp just blinks. Togekiss is growing increasingly concerned by the second.

 _"Garchomp,"_ Cynthia whispers. _Poor girl looks like she'll shatter with one touch._

"I'm here, Cynthia." Garchomp places her trembling claws into the woman's quivering hands. Togekiss rubs her bosom as a strange flush of heat tingles within her heart.

 _"There was so much blood."_ The woman's voice is choked with moisture. She squeezes her eyes shut, only for them to snap open on their own. _"The pus… the burns… Oh Arceus, those burns…"_ Her words are vibrating now. _"Oh, Togekiss. I didn't recognize him at first. How can he just do that to himself…? How can anyone play with their lives like that…?"_

Cynthia buries her face in her palms. The forest suddenly grows colder. Togekiss feels the chill sneaking down her spine. 

_"I've never seen skin twist like that. I've never…"_ A stifled sob. " _Oh Arceus, how could he walk with all those injuries? And the scars… Arceus those scars…"_ Togekiss steadies a wing over those trembling knees. Garchomp is still frozen in whatever trance that had possessed her.

 _"How did I not notice?"_ Cynthia lifts her neck to gasp for air. _"After all those summers… after all the time we've been together… how could I have been so ignorant? He kept telling me that everything was fine… that he was okay. And I believed him."_ She stares at her Pokemon. _"How could he just lie like that as if nothing bad was happening?"_

Cynthia vomits a wretched sob into her palms. The two Pokemon hug her. Time passes like sticky molasses until Cynthia suggest they walk around the mansion to rid this stupid funk.

"I don’t like this place." Togekiss tilts her head upwards to the trees. "You can't even see the sun."

"It's still daytime though." Garchomp won't look at her partner. Togekiss glances between the woman and dragon, and her frown deepens.

_Is there something I'm not understanding here? Do Cynthia and Garchomp know something I don't?_

Then voices drift into her ears. And judging from Garchomp's expression, she hears them too.

_"What?"_ Cynthia mutters when the land dragon tugs her arms. _"Where are we going?"_ Garchomp wordlessly guides Cynthia along the garden path of the Old Chateau. Togekiss passes a wary glance behind her wing but follows regardless. She steps over the rampant ivy and overgrown flowers to a place nestled within a pocket of frozen time.

"…back again, eh? I knew this was a twisted ploy of fate. To think she had to see him in his pitiful condition…"

"Ain't she da one who burnt you like fried Starly?"

"I AM FINE NOW. IT'S THE BOY I'M WORRIED ABOUT. WHEN THAT METEORITE FELL ON HIM…"

"Stop, Gyarados. That's done and over with. What matters now is that she said she could fix him. Still… why is she here? What's with the sudden change—"

Crobat whips her head to her gawking audience. For a while, no one moves. No one even blinks as a leaf detaches itself from above and falls into the pond below.

Then Honchkrow raises his majestic wings, ushering his comrades behind his back. "Speak of the renegade," he says, his voice smooth and silky and dark. "The righteous Hero, her untouchable Garchomp, and… you."

Togekiss immediately steps back to Cynthia's side.

"I knew ya couln't resist comin' back." Weavile brandishes his claws like knives. "Now the humans ain't here. No one's gonna interfere!"

"HOPING FOR A REMATCH FROM YOUR LOSS AT CELESTIC TOWN?" Gyarados's nostrils are flaring. "WHEN YOU HAVEN'T MASTERED YOUR OWN RAGE, WILL YOU STILL USE THAT BARBARIC MOVE TO DEFEAT ME?"

"What more do you want from us?" Crobat snarls, thrusting a shaky wing into the air. The bandages shift, revealing a faint black line through her temples… a line where needles have penetrated to patch skin together after the foreign object had been extracted.

And Garchomp staggers back. Cynthia's hand flies to her mouth. _They both look sick to their stomach. Feverish even. As if they've been shot in the heart._

"I knew saving you two was a mistake," Honchkrow hisses. "I told him! I knew this would happen! But that stupid boy won't listen to me! Me, someone who would never turn my back on him!"

"Krow."

"She—" Honchkrow juts his chin to Cynthia "—didn't deserve to be on my back! He never learns his lesson! Why would he waste his time not once, but twice, on someone who would never appreciate him? And now look at him! He hasn't opened his eyes since that accursed storm! We're not even sure if he's still a—"

"Krow!"

Honchkrow clamps his beak with a hard crunch. He turns to the bat, his eyes dim and cold. "Am I not right? You were there, Crobat. You tried to protect him. And what happened? Stitches. Both of you. While you got shot in the head--"

"HONCHKROW!" Crobat lunges to slap him when her body suddenly stiffens, and she falls to the ground. Weavile rushes to catch her.

Togekiss releases her crushing grip from Cynthia's arm. Garchomp's back is turned, so the bird isn't sure what emotions are bubbling on the dragon's face. But judging from her slumped shoulders and hung neck, it's not a happy sentimentality.

"I'm sorry," Garchomp whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Those heartfelt words bounces off Gyarados's flashing eyes. "IF WORDS CAN FIX EVERYTHING, THEN THE WORLD WOUDN'T BE AS CRUEL AS IT IS." The serpent thrashes his tail against the foaming watery surface. "YOU MUST BE MAD TO THINK A MERE APOLOGY CAN MAKE UP FOR EVERYTHING."

Garchomp's body is trembling. "I… I'm sorry…"

Cynthia is watching this bizarre scene with wide eyes. _"What's happening?"_ she mumbles to the incredulous Togekiss. _"Are they arguing? Why is Garchomp…"_

Weavile storms to the front and shoves Garchomp back. Shoves her hard. "Listen, you. We don't need ya here, 'kay? You managed ta' trick Mars into bringin' you here. You knew we're all worried sick about 'im. If ya even dare ta' poison him—"

"It's not poison," Togekiss huffs, realizing her mistake too late. All eyes are burning into her back. _Oh Arceus._ The bird steels herself and continues, "That herb is an heirloom in my family. The healing properties are quite potent, especially if made into powder form."

A hush falls over the crowd. "Then he'll get better." Crobat gingerly lifts her head from Weavile's fur. "He'll wake up, right?"

Togekiss shouldn't be this surprised at Crobat's question. _Why, they're just words…_ "Y-Yes. He should… he should wake up soon."

_At least… I think so._ She leaves this unsaid.

The relief is immediate. Weavile collapses onto the ground. Honchkrow pulls his fedora over his eyes. Gyarados drops his glare and stares into his rippling reflection.

And Togekiss feels it. That tingling in her bosom. That warm, buttery sensation of a collective sense of hope.

"Thank you," Crobat murmurs, her voice almost mistaken for a breeze in the forest. Togekiss grunts something in affirmation and shuffles back to Cynthia's side.

"Garchomp?" Togekiss nudges her friend's wing. "Garchomp."

The land dragon slowly raises her head. "We used to be friends," Garchomp says.

Togekiss blinks. _Erm… but aren't we already friends?_ She's about to ask when Garchomp turns her attention back to his Pokemon and repeats the sentence.

Weavile's jaw drops. Gyarados is staring at her as if she had transformed into a human. Then they laugh. They laugh until their bodies jerk to the side, until tears spring from their eyes.

"I'M SORRY, WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Gyarados howls. The pond churns violently as he thrashes about the waters, spilling tidal waves onto the grass.

"Hehehehe! Oh, I get it! I get it!" Weavile slaps his knee. His claw leaves red welts in his fur. "That bird's a terrifying straight man! Hey, why dontcha' take yer comedy routine somewhere else? Maybe where humans would 'preciate your disgusting humor?"

Garchomp still holds her head high. That's when Togekiss notices the lack of laughter from the crow and the bat. Why, they're just staring at the dragon with… _with horror._

"We remembered," Garchomp adds, and that's when their faces are truly aghast.

Before Togekiss can make sense of this peculiar situation, the haunted mansion erupts into noise. Floorboards creak, curtains lift, and the passage of time returns to Eterna Forest.

Cynthia instantly bolts to the mansion, the Pokemon scurrying behind her. The Gastly and Haunter follow the ragtag party as they barge through the aged oak doors.

_"Everyone!"_ A Grunt is crying. Screaming amongst the chaos. _"Come quick! He's awake! Master Cyrus is finally awake!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARC I END.


	24. Awakening Part 2

_"Grandfather? Where are you going?" The boy reaches for the old man's hand and grabs his sleeve instead._

_His grandfather's eyes are mournful. Almost… disgusted. Grandfather yanks back his arm, much to Cyrus's shock. The man glowers down at the boy as if he's an unwanted pest. As if he shouldn't exist in the first place. Cyrus fights back the dam that's threatening to explode and almost passes out._

_"Don't look at me," Grandfather snaps. He tosses the robot his grandson had given him to the ground—what the boy specifically made for the man's birthday. The machine rolls and chips away to rusty gears and wires. By the time its shell hits Cyrus's head, the gift is nothing more than a dented sheet of metal._

_"Grow up, brat," Grandfather hisses._

_Cyrus salvages the robot with shaking hands. "Grandfather," he sniffles. "Please don’t go. I miss you so mu—" He shuts up at the apprehension on Grandfather's usually kind face. Gone is the warmth and familiarity. A blizzard begins to take life in the boy's tightening chest._

_"If you didn't allow yourself to feel, then you wouldn’t be sad," the man scolds, his tone harsh. "That's what you get for daring to pay heed to your heart. Did you really think that I lo… No, you were just a burden to me, Cyrus. I only let you stay around because you failed to live up to their expectations." Grandfather shakes his head and turns away without sparing a second glance._

_"G-Grandfather!" Cyrus screams. He scrambles to catch up to the man, but the darkness yanks him back. It's like quicksand: the more he struggles, the more he sinks. "Grandfather! Please!! Don't leave me alone again! I'm sorry!! I'M SORRY!!"_

_That wretched emotion is squeezing his heart. Something slams into his back and knocks the breath out of him. He bashes his chin on the cold, hard floor._

_His body suddenly jerks forward. Someone's kicking him. Someone's hurling insults upon him, those words as agonizing as a volley of bullets. One voice. Two voices. Then three… maybe more than he can count._

_"You freak! Always talking to your machines like a crazy person! Face reality, punk!"_

_That metallic taste surges to his tongue._

_"Ew! It's Cyrus! Shoo, shoo! Go away! He's gonna spread his disease!"_

_"They're never present for his parent-teacher conferences. I've called the house, but they're always too busy to answer. Why, I've also heard that they only look at him if they needed him. Do you think that he's adopted…?"_

_Cyrus locks his arms above his head and pulls his knees tighter to his chest._ Sticks and stones might break my bones, but w-words… words will never hurt me.

_The kicking stops. He tastes sand. The familiar beach air grazes his raw nostrils. Small footsteps stop above his head. He would've been content to keep playing possum until he hears her voice._

_"You had no right to think that that we were friends."_

_Akagi scrambles to his feet. He reaches a hand for the girl---and quickly yanks it back. Shirona merely regards him with cold eyes. She keeps a safe distance from him as he tries in vain to stop his heart from almost exploding._

_"Why did I even talk you? Why did I even waste my time with you?" Shirona thrusts an angry finger to his face. "Stupid me had to go and defend your worthless hide. And for what? Because of you, I've jeopardized my friendships, my future…! You held me back. Don't drag me down to your level, Akagi. You never belonged anywhere."_

S-Sticks and stones... words… words will never… _He feels like throwing up._ No. Keep reminding yourself. Keep reciting it until you actually believe it. That's what I've been doing… At least do something right…

_"I did consider you my friend, Shirona," Akagi whispers through the cracks in his fingers. "Because of you, I… I was able to stand up for myself—"_

_"Shut up, criminal."_

_And then the boy becomes a man. The girl becomes a woman of power and fear. The beach fades away into a suffocating white room where the Champion of Sinnoh leers at him from the other end of a barricaded table._

_"I won't be swayed by your lies again," she spits, every word slashing across his flesh like a frigid wind. When he attempts to shield his face, the chains dig deeper into his wrists. He can only stare as her lips twist into the cruelest sneer he'd ever seen. "Don't even pretend to have a heart. I know you're just a robot. A freak of nature. All you are is just a pathetic, empty shell that reeks of failure. Nihilists like you should just roll off a cliff."_

_The handcuffs are painfully tight. The cold metal presses onto his ankles, onto his wrists until they almost gnaw into bone._

_But the Champion isn't done. "If you had died at Crystal Cave, then I wouldn't get my information. Did you really think I'd let myself fall to your delusion that we were once friends? I mean, look at you! You don't deserve kindness, criminal. You deserve to be locked away forever." Teeth flashes like a knife. "Who would even miss you in the first place?_

_"And what was that about, saying that you considered me your friend? Once? Ironic, considering a monster like you can't even grasp the concept of friendship. Guess what, freak? My friends don't walk around in chains!"_

_Her hand flies across his face, leaving behind bright red welts on his skin. As the red tumors spread to his eyeballs, the Champion plants a heel onto his chest. The chair falls over and takes him along with it. He's vaguely aware of the back of his head hitting the metal floor. Vaguely aware of the stitches quivering and undoing to let all that blood taint the sterile white room._

_The Hero towers over him with a snarl. "I've had enough. I didn't put up with you just to hear a pathological liar's bullshit. I don't know why I kept coming back to see a pathetic piece of trash like you." She leans closer until he can smell her hatred. "You've always been alone, criminal. You can't change that. Why do you still pretend? Why do you surround yourself with imbeciles like that of your… 'Commanders,' right?"_

_The world stops spinning, if only for a second. He glares through the ocean of red. "They've done nothing wrong, Hero," he hisses, but it comes as a hoarse rasp instead._

_The Hero of Sinnoh sighs and rolls her eyes. "You really are a delusional madman. But it's true. You fear being alone, yet you try so hard to fight fate. Listen to me. Because of their incompetence,_ your _incompetence, your plan in creating a perfect world fell flat. They're unnecessary, Cyrus." He flinches. "They tether you to this cruel world. They held you back."_

_She taps an icy cold finger to his heaving chest. "They made you listen to your heart and all its disgusting, primal instincts."_

_"Don't touch me," Cyrus snarls, more for his own safety than hers._

_The world changes again, this time to a horizon line of a bruised, grey sky. Cyrus gasps, the tangy smell of rain washing down his ravaged throat. The handcuffs are gone. The chains are gone. He rubs his hair from his eyes with hands that are already stained with rain._

_Cynthia stands far away from him with an umbrella that shields her face. From him. "You messed up by even taking them in, Cyrus. You were fine by yourself. People change and betray you once you've expended your usefulness." She clicks her teeth. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet?"_

_Cynthia juts her chin to the distance. Cyrus follows her gaze. "Why don't you see for yourself? See what happened when you paid heed to your wretched hole of a heart."_

_She disappears in a cloud of mist. A woman with violet hair picks up the fallen umbrella and holds it over the two children at her side. The sky flashes, and her wedding ring glints like it's on fire._

_"Jupiter. Saturn. Mars," Cyrus whispers. He takes a shaky, uncertain step forward. Jupiter's lips wilt with each second until she tugs the children back. Back to safety. Cyrus freezes, and his heart riots in its prison._

Why are they looking at me as if I'm a damn CRIMINAL? Even the CHILDREN?

_"That's not our names." Jupiter's face is black with rage. "Don't take another step. Don't even dare to touch them. Are you envious of their innocence, a conniving crook like you? Do you intend to take that away from them as well?"_

The physical wounds are all gone, but why is everything still HURTING?

_Saturn glares at him with the same repulsion as Jupiter's. As Shirona's. As Grandfather's. Cyrus stumbles back. "I could've been a Pokemon Trainer," the boy growls. "I could've grown up to be whatever I wanted. I could've traveled the world with Pokemon instead of being shackled to your crazy ambitions! I could've been a Hero like Cynthia!"_

He's just a child. S-Saturn is just a child. Then why is this upsetting me much more than it needs to??!

_"You took everything away from me!" Saturn cries. Cyrus's knees buckle and finally give away. "I should've waited for a better family! How could a heartless robot like you ever understand what that means?! It's all your fault! YOU TOOK AWAY MY LIFE!"_

_By that point, Cyrus's body is trembling too much to even draw breath. He can't feel the rain against his skin, despite it already turning into hail._

_"I wanted to live in a proper home," Mars whispers. Her glare, stripped of its childish innocence, cuts sharp like a knife through his heart. "I just wanted a normal childhood. Damn, I just wanted to be a normal kid! Was that too much to ask for?! I didn't sign up to wear a ridiculous costume and follow you around like the crazed monster that you are!"_

_Hot, angry tears course down a face, mingling with the cold, unforgiving rain. "You just had to come and ruin my future!" Mars screeches. "You're just an emotionless freak! I HATE YOU!!"_

_For a moment, all he can hear is the deafening ringing in his ears, a sound so loud it almost drives him deaf. A sound that renders everything else insignificant and lifeless._

_The hail picks up, but he can hear Jupiter's repulsion as clear as day. "Don't you see, Cyrus? The weakness of your heart and your incomplete spirit drove you to seek companionship. You've already failed. You've already given up on your dreams when you let Saturn follow you."_

_Cyrus shakes his head. Some fluid sloshes about in his brain. He can't stop the tremors in his body. "Jupiter, please…"_

_Jupiter clicks her tongue impatiently. "I already told you. That's not my name… For your information, we had_ proper _names before you came into the picture. At least do something right for once in your failure of a life." She sighs. "It's not a matter of 'if' everyone will abandon you, Cyrus. It's a matter of 'when.' But if you hadn't given in to the whims of your ugly heart in the first place, then you wouldn't be feeling this way. This disgusting, vile emotion is all. Your. Fault. And you let Cynthia use your weakness._

_"In the end, you're too weak to convince anyone to stay. You had no right to pull us into this hellhole in the first place."_

_"Ju—Ma'am, please wait," he wants to say, but the words die in his throat._

_The woman gives him a pitiful look. One that's deserving of a monster like him. "I'm taking the children. They'll grow up to be proper members of society. We'll create a new future… a brighter world without you to ruin it. Farewell, you manipulative bastard. I hope I'll never see your empty husk again."_

_The people that once were his team turn their backs and vanish into the rain. Cyrus stares at his vibrating hands until his eyes burn and blood trickles down his cheeks._

_Dead grass blooms beneath his feet, swallowing the rain-soaked concrete in a field of brown. The familiar Treeshroud Forest lies before his eyes. He raises his head to find the Time Gear hovering right above his hands, simply begging to be taken. Somehow, the relic fails to incite any response within Cyrus. He just stares at it._

They're right… I was always alone. My spirit is incomplete. Wretched. Flawed. My heart holds nothing but an ugly concoction of revolting, spiteful emotions. I was never strong in the first place. Try as I might to suppress these vacuous sentimentality, they always slip through… always seizing an opportunity to spring out at the slightest hint of weakness.

When did my plans go awry? Ah. I know. Since the very beginning. I was doomed to fail. Just like they said. They always knew best… They told me I would never amount to anything.

**And they're right.**

**Why did I even bother to change that?**

_The trees blur into a vast meadow. The flowers are pale and limp. All he sees is red… just a steady, pulsating shade of red._

_The Time Gear at Mystifying Forest is just a finger's reach away. Once again, Cyrus chooses to keep his hands on his chest. The very things he once tried to steal are now proof of his failures… shoving all his doubts and insecurities back into his face. The green glow that used to excite him now burns like lightning across his skin._

_Then the scene whirls again, this time to a cavern of colorless crystals. He sees the pools of blood, now old and darkened. He sees Bertha's stained handkerchief, torn to shreds and littered next to a stump of a crystal. He feels the coldness creeping to his spine, and no amount of shivering will change that. No amount of shivering can melt the ice building around his nose._

_Mesprit awaits him in the palace of the Crystal Puzzle. The Pokemon lowers its head at his presence. He isn't aware of the emotion on his face, but whatever it is, no one but this Pokemon will be able to see it._

_The Guardian of Emotion utters a low, mournful cry._ "Clever boy, to fool those around you with your façade. To fool even yourself with your white lies. But I hear it. I hear your heart weeping. How can such a fragile thing still weep while your tears have long since ran dry?" 

_Cyrus gasps and staggers backwards until his back hits a solid crystal. He buries his blood-stained face into his palms, pressing himself tighter until he's as small as possible. "S-Stop. Y-You d-don't know what you're s-s-saying!"_

 _Mesprit tilts its head, and a clear tear falls down its cheek. A drop of blood sneaks down the cracks of Cyrus's fingers as well. He feels them… those accursed sentimentalities. Sadness. Sorrow._ Wait. Sadness…? But for whom? For me? Why? Why…?

**It hurts so much.**

_He can't contain the dam much longer. His chest is at the brink of collapsing. It's too overwhelming, too unexpected for him to handle._ It's never been this bad before… _The ugliness spills into his soul and streams from his eyes as rivulets of blood._

 _Somewhere in the darkness, Mesprit is speaking._ "Lost little child… stumbling blindly with no guiding light. No one is here for you. No one ever was."

_His perfect world is shattering before his eyes. It is a revelation he'd known, deep within the dark recesses of his heart. He had to stash that doubt away, board it up behind his cold ambitions, so he could be presentable._ Who would've thought it would resurface at a time like this? _When everyone turns their backs to him. When everything's falling apart._

**What's the point of continuing?**

**No one cares anyway.**

_Cyrus collapses on the ground with his face in his hands. His Poke balls tremble and burst open._

_"No… not you too…" Cyrus stupidly reaches for them. A sharp pain cuts into his palms, and his hands are slapped back by a violet wing._

"I didn't need you to protect me." _Crobat spits that wad of tainted blood back into his face._ "You were the one that trespassed upon my home, the Beach Cave, in the first place."

"You took me against my will." _Honchkrow dashes an iron wing across his eyes. He sees stars._ "My flock was waiting for me. Because of your unnecessary interference, they left me behind."

"ONE MORE SECOND, AND THE WAVES WOULD HAVE CARRIED ME BACK INTO SEA." _Gyarados leans forward, its hot breath scalding his skin._ "YOUR HELP WAS NEVER NEEDED. YOU MESSED UP EVERYTHING YOU TOUCHED."

"Ya brainwashed me into leavin' my herd behind. What's so special about ya anyway?" Weavile shoves him—hard. He slumps against the crystalline ground, his shoulders trembling as he tries desperately to keep everything contained within his stomach. The Pokemon shake their heads and turn, their retreating backs fading into the looming darkness.

And as the cavern begins to burn, the people come back. Admist the raging flames are the faces of those he'd wronged, familiar faces that would never regard him as anything more than a stranger. He spots Grandfather. The Hero. The Commanders. The Elite Four. Gym Leaders. Everyone…

_"And this is the lunatic who dared to steal a Time Gear," the Detective presents to the jeering public. "Pathetic. Do us all a favor and roll over, prisoner. We can finally close this case, and everyone will live happily ever after."_

_"Burn in hell, space freak!" Flint gives a hard kick to Cyrus's swimming stomach._

_"You're a monster," Volkner scoffs while standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend. "And monsters don't belong in my hometown."_

_"This is a fitting end for a criminal like you!" The public tosses broken glass and shrapnel down his body. Accompanying their curses are the rumbling of helicopter blades as they slash through the thickening air. Through the cracks of his crimson fingers, he sees the flames already rising to the ceiling, charring the once-impervious crystals to cinders. The faint smell of burning flesh registers in his brain, but by then their voices have become so disorienting, and the pain has become so prominent that it renders his own existence insignificant._

_And then he hears them._ Their _voices, exactly as he remembers them. The same disappointment, the same dismissiveness whenever he tried to appease them._

"Flint _made it into the Elite Four." That name is emphasized._ "Volkner _made it as a Gym Leader. And you? All you do is talk to your machines. Something is definitely wrong with you. We should've never have let that old man spread his crazy ideas…"_

_"You've wasted everything we worked so hard for. Don't you know how embarrassed we were every time we brought you to those conferences? We didn't feed you so you'd turn out to be an irredeemable psychopath!"_

_Cyrus should've just taken it and pray they go away. But deep in his heart, he still yearns for their approval. Just three words. Three simple words._ Is it really that hard to give me such a trivial proclamation? Why is it so easy for you to speak of other children that way, but to me…?

**What am I doing wrong?**

**Just please, for once, say that I'm enough…**

**You don't even**

**have**

**to**

**mean it.**

_"But I tried my best," the boy says. "Please, I really did try—"_

_"Then try harder," the woman snaps. "Or, better yet, give up. Your best was never enough, Cyrus. You'll never be perfect… and that's why you'll keep disappointing us time and time again."_

_The man's voice joins in the fray. "My associate's son is already doing calculus! He's only in middle school! I know someone whose daughter is already applying for college, and she's younger than you! But when I come home, and what do I see? You playing in that dirty cave of yours. You talking to that rusty pile of junk. Has it ever crossed your stupid little brain that you're making us lose face in public?"_

_Cyrus didn't realize that his hands were pressed so tightly against his face until he almost chokes on the bloody tears. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I'll fix myself—"_

_**"It's too late for a rotten criminal like you."**_

_Cyrus might've screamed. He might've cried out and slammed his fists into the burning ground. Slammed it until jagged glass tear deeper into his flesh. He feels no physical pain, however. He feels nothing as flames gnaw at his arms._

_It's this horrible feeling from within that's much more painful._

_"SILENCE!" Cyrus screeches to deaf ears. The voices blur and warble into a chaotic mess. "Stop it! Go away! Leave me alone! Please… stop…"_

"Child."

_Through the smoke and haze, Cyrus barely makes out Mesprit's golden eyes. The Pokemon hovers down to his face and bows its head. It's not laughing. It's not cursing him. He chokes back a thick gasp as the Guardian extends its arms to him._

"You seek a new world, correct? A perfect world free from pain and strife… A world where no one has to be hurt ever again… where no one has to bear all that suffering in silence…" _A warm, golden light radiates from the Pokemon, the brightest light Cyrus had ever seen._ "If you wish, then follow me. I will take you there. I will—"

_Cyrus flings himself into Mesprit's embrace. He buries his dirty face into its soft body. The Pokemon pulls him closer. He feels tears falling on his head, tears as cold as the crystal lake. The Guardian of Emotion embodied everything he despised, but still, he refuses to let go. He can't._

**I won't.**

_Mesprit hears his unspoken plea._ "Worry not, my child. I am here for you. Pour your grieving heart onto me. Pour out all your suffering… your sorrows… your pain…"

_And then it happens. The voices begin to die. The fire begins to fade into obscurity. The world gradually halts until time finally stands still. He feels the sentimentalities leaving his heart. He feels his own spirit fading, flickering before the stubborn light is finally snuffed out. Bitterness, loathing, sorrow, happiness… all those vacuous things thinning into the void._

"Do not cry, my child." _His eyelids are fluttering. Mesprit gently strokes his head, its tails grazing against his numbing cheek._ "Everything is all right. I am here. You'll be okay… You'll be safe in my arms. No one will ever hurt you again.

"Sleep now, Cyrus, and we shall cross to the perfect world. Together." _Everything is fading. Mesprit's voice, soft and eerie, slowly calms his mind. Mesprit's hands on his head, Mesprit's mere presence in this sea of loneliness, stills his breath._

_Then Cyrus closes his eyes, and the hurting finally stops._

* * *

Cyrus wakes to the soft luminescence of an overhead light. Harsh sunlight is spilling from the windows, the warmth failing to register on his cheek. The place is quiet, save for the dull hum of an overhead ceiling fan. It's moving, rotating like a broken clock. Clearly it has seen better days.

_Have I been here before?_

Cyrus flicks his gaze to his surroundings. Color slowly returns to his world. Nothing is burning. There are no crystals. No remnants of that scorching inferno. No weeping Pokemon holding him in its arms.

Instead, it looks to be a room that had fallen into disrepair. _Prison?_ No… he's on a bed. No chains. No guns pressed against his back. There's a layer of clumsily-done bandages over every inch of his body.

_The afterlife?_

Some voices warble in and out of earshot. Terribly familiar voices that tightens his already exhausted chest. Someone hovers above him, but Cyrus cannot make out words from the phantom's lips. That person gently touches his arm—

\--and the pain surges up his brain so fast and unexpected that Cyrus jolts up in bed. Another wave of pain rams into his back as if he'd been hit by a Focus Punch. A firecracker explodes in his lungs. His joints groan with each jerk of the body. He can't breathe. He can't even scream.

The whispering rises to yelling. Shrieking. Panic. Cyrus attempts to hide his face, only for his arms to spasm violently. His throat is burning. Everything is burning. He almost coughs out his lungs.

"Water!" Someone cries. Cyrus squints at the pointy blue dot that's weaving around the room like a Torchic without its head. "Someone, get… oss… some water!"

A purple cloud holds something pleasantly cool to his cracked lips. Cyrus inhales the liquid—then jerks to the side and vomits whatever contents are left in his empty stomach.

"Mars!" the violet fog cries. Its voice threatens to split his head. "Get me a bucket!"

Cyrus lurches over the bed and retches until the numbness reaches his brain. Somewhere along the line he tastes blood, but then everything mixes into a bitter, sour concoction on his tongue.

He can't feel his feet. Cotton had jammed itself into his chest. His pulse crawls to a sluggish throb.

"Mars! Saturn! He's not breathing!" _Who...? Like the planets? No, where have I heard those names before…?_

_Stop. Where am I? Grandfather, where…? No… he's not… What time period is this? Try to remember… shove aside all these needless thoughts and try to remember…_

Something nips at his ear. Cyrus turns to see a pair of red eyes staring back at him. No… not a pair. Three. There pairs of tired, shining eyes meeting his own. As his head clears, so do the shapes. _Ah. Is that a bat? With four wings? And a cat with a jewel on its head? Do birds even come in that size? And why is there a serpent staring at me from the window?_

"Master Cyrus!" He shifts his gaze to the people who spoke. _Cyrus. That's my name, right? Why are they calling me 'Master' Cyrus?_ There are people sporting identical bowl-cuts. And in front of them are…

Something registers in his empty eyes. "S… Saturn?" _When did he grow up? Didn't… didn't he leave with Jupiter?_

The Commander gasps. _Saturn had been crying,_ Cyrus notes. _Why, they all have been crying_. _Judging from everyone's gaunt appearance, they've been neglecting their health for a while now. Didn't I tell all of you to look after yourselves?_

"What happened?" Cyrus croaks. "Why are you crying, Saturn?" Something sharp and barbed snags in his throat. _Is that how I sound like? How long has it been since I last spoke?_

But then another voice sneaks into the foggy pits of his mind, one so dreadfully familiar. _What are you doing? Listen to yourself. How can you even stand your own disgusting voice? Shut up already. You're the one emotionally manipulated him in the first place._

"Oh Arceus," the young man named Saturn mumbles. "Boss, you're back… You're finally back…"

"Back?" Cyrus's head whirls from the sudden rush of blood. "Have I gone somewhere?" He rubs the growing darkness from his eyes.

"You're finally awake, Boss," Mars whispers, her voice choked with moisture. "You've been out since the storm. But I knew that you'd keep fighting! I knew you'd come back, because nothing can stop Master Cyrus!"

_Why didn't you just give up? You're inconveniencing everyone. Again. Look at Mars. She has better things to do. Stop wasting her time._

"You came home," Jupiter says with a shaky laugh. "Oh, Cyrus, you had no idea how worried we were!" She scoops his face into her hands. "Damn it, you're burning up! How could you disregard your life like that, you stupid boy! Promise me you won't ever say those horrible things about yourself ever again!" There's a certain emotion in her face that prickles his heart… yet he can't place it. But it does makes him feel warm and full, as if he'd just ingested Grandfather's chicken soup.

_You have no right to feel this way, considering how you brainwashed them into saying these things. Why should they care about you? Wake up already._

"Is that so?" Cyrus murmurs, straightening and leaning his back against the wall. "All right, Jupiter. I won't do that again." His forehead is indeed burning, but it doesn't seem to be as prominent a pain anymore.

"Cyrus." The light catches on her golden hair. It feels strange to hear her utter his name like that. So gentle and kind. He has the distinctive notion that she hated him with all her heart, but as to why he thinks that way, reason escapes him. "Don't force yourself. You're still terribly hurt."

Cyrus's lips tug gently. "You came too, Cynthia? I feel like I haven't seen you in the longest time… Are you doing well? How is your grandmother?" Her hands fly to her mouth. He sees this and tilts his head. "Ah… Is the dust irritating your eyes? Someone should open a window in here… you all look like you've been crying."

_What. Are you doing? What are you saying? How dare you speak to her as if… Know your place, you rotten criminal! How dare you even lift your head! How dare you even look at her as if you two were equals!!_

**_WAKE UP, YOU FREAK WITHOUT A HUMAN HEART!!_ **

"We have," the Grunts say softly, elbowing each other.

"Well, I suppose there are health benefits to shedding tears," Cyrus mutters. The vertigo is making it difficult to focus on their faces. He presses a trembling palm to his temples. The bandages that meander across his skin are blurring together into a white fog. "All of you. Take the day off. There isn't much that needs to be done by today, anyhow. I'll close up the building." He turns. "Cynthia, if you're not busy, would you like to visit Valor Lakefront again? I can bring some gateau... I'll put only eight teaspoons of sugar this time. The Krabby are coming back today, and I'd like to… and I…"

And all the sense and rationale slams into his brain like a cruel Wake-Up Slap. Cyrus's head snaps up to his audience. His Pokemon jump at his sudden reaction, the same Pokemon that gave up on him in that cavern. The Grunts are still here… what's left of his army anyway, including his three Commanders… even after he disbanded Team Galactic and abandoned them.

They're still here, even after he betrayed them.

Cyrus finally looks at himself. Someone had dressed him after his escape attempt that ended in his near-electrocution. The musty smell of herbs hangs in the dusty air. He's currently stashed in a room in who-knows-where.

_All the exits are blocked._

And to add insult to injury, the person responsible for all his strife is here as well. Just standing there. Waiting for him to slip so she can haul him away. His heart thunders in his chest as thick, hot blood simmers into every fiber of his being. The world begins to spin a sickening rondo.

"Cyrus?" she says and takes a tentative step forward. He gasps and slams his back against the wall, flinging out his hands as if his life depends on it.

"M-Master Cyrus!"

"Cyrus!" The Hero who defeated him is so close now. Her disturbingly gentle voice sends his nerves into a screaming frenzy. His throat closes, and he begins to shake until he almost passes out from asphyxiation.

Cyrus peers from behind the safety of his fingers. She stops dead in her tracks. "Haven't you tormented me enough?" he whispers, and his carefully constructed image of the emotionless Boss of Team Galactic shatters at his feet, an image so painstakingly crafted from all his sacrifice, his willpower, his cold ambitions. "Don't come any closer! Leave me alone!"

"Cy—"

"GO HOME!" 

And before anyone can say anything, his eyes roll back into his skull, and darkness pulls the former leader of Team Galactic back into its sanctuary of nothingness.


	25. The Story Thus Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia steps into Cyrus's world and realizes that she never actually knew him.

"I remember you."

The Grunt stiffens at Cynthia's voice. Cynthia musters a smile and tries again. "You… you were the one who served me breakfast every day."

The Breakfast Grunt clicks her teeth. When she scowls, the mole beneath her left eye wrinkles until it disappears into the surrounding skin. "What an honor, I guess." Said with dripping sarcasm. "The Hero of Sinnoh going out of Her Holiness's way to remember a faceless Grunt like me."

Cynthia almost loses her breath again. She gulps for air until the bitter taste dissipates into the musty surroundings.

"Y-You…" She grips the table for support. "Do you have a name?"

Another Grunt butts into the conversation. "Hey," he huffs. "Why are you still here, Hero?"

"I'm here until Cyrus gets better." Her heart quivers at his name. And the bitter tang swells to her tongue. She can almost taste her breakfast again.

The Grunts exchange a glance. Some Gastly flutter about the air, and no one bats an eye.

"I'm R-8." The Breakfast Grunt shifts her legs. "Call me R-8."

"B-2," says the Grunt with the huge ass. Even the slightest movement sends his redeeming characteristic into a furious dance. Cynthia has no idea if he's doing this on purpose, and she's not asking any time soon.

Then slowly and surely, the other Grunts say their names. And for a second there, she could've sworn she was back in the futuristic hallways of the Veilstone Headquarters, back when it was still a proud and noble thing.

"Are those your real names?" Cynthia asks. "Like the Commanders?"

R-8 raises an eyebrow. "We've always known the Commanders by those names…"

"Are you telling me those _aren't_ their real names?" B-2's hand hovers above his hips. "Anyhow, us foot soldiers don't get cool names like that. Not that I mind, really." He hits the flat of his hand against his chest. "I picked my own name. Doesn't B-2 just sound like but—"

"Upon joining Galactic, Master Cyrus gave us the option to start anew," R-8 interrupts before things get out of hand. The crowd mutters assent. "Most of us ended up liking our news names better than our old ones anyway."

Cynthia remembers the case files on the linoleum table, back when the skies were bleeding and mystery only deepened.

_"There are no records of anyone named Mars, Saturn, or Jupiter," Looker said as he handed her the folders. "No birth certificates, no nothing. Employment signed with code names. Out of everyone in his cult, only Cyrus's information checks out."_

_Are those really code names?_ she finds herself wondering. Cynthia slowly lifts her head to the Grunts' reproachful eyes. "How did you all…" She licks her lips and tries again. "What made you join Team Galactic?"

"Because that nutter Cyrus brainwashed us," another Grunt snaps in a horribly thick accent. "Like your boys in blue said, we're just mindless fools—"

R-8 stops him with a hand. "I think she's serious about that question." She glares at the Grunt. "And I have no idea what you just said, but stop it anyway."

Then Breakfast Grunt turns back to Cynthia. "I joined around the same time as B-2 did. Master Cyrus was giving a small speech at Hearthome Park…"

"I remember." B-2 strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Slapped me straight out of my funk."

R-8's eyes glaze over as she wades through her sea of memories. "You know the feeling when you walked out of your job and immediately regretted it afterwards? I was pretty sure they fired me on the spot, but…" She shrugs. "Back then, I was in a low, low place. I had bills to pay, but now without that job… well, I just wandered around the dingy old park until someone put me out of my misery… then I heard his voice."

Cynthia's eyes widen as a new light dawns in the Grunt's face, washing away the wariness, the suppressed rage on her weary features. "There was this weird guy on those park stages. And I kid you not, as soon as he started speaking, the sun broke from the clouds, and it finally stopped raining in Hearthome City. Arceus, it was like I was witnessing a miracle!"

B-2 bobs his head. There's a cheeky, tired grin on his lips. "He was much younger than he looked, that's for sure. And there were these two kids and an ass-kicking woman with him…" He drops his voice. "But I did so anyway, and I realized that he was right… I even worked up the courage to stay behind and ask him more about his vision…" B-2 puffs his chest and butt. "Heck, he's hella smart! But scary. That was the first time someone gave me hope… that a nameless cog like me can actually make a difference in this crude, incomplete world."

Cynthia's mouth is oh so dry. B-2 swings an arm over his fellow Grunts. "Z-11 joined for the money. Tbh that's why I'm here too. We even get insurance and sick leave! And A-7 hated her old shitty job. K-1 here has a disability, but she needs a way to take care of her ailing old lady. And over here…"

The more B-2 rolls out introductions, the more the dry lump in Cynthia's throat grows until her eyes begin to water. She swallows hard, shivering from the tremors that rock her body. Nameless faces become familiar, faceless names become intimate as more Grunts step up to share their stories… and what ultimately led them to the nexus of destiny.

 _"The whole lot of them!"_ Someone in the crowd had said after Cynthia exited the dishonored Galactic Headquarters at Veilstone. After her undisputed success in the Operation. _"With their tacky outfits and bad hair! I'm glad that they're finally off the streets!"_

 _"Can you believe how many people joined his crazy cult?"_ Flint had sad the night after Crystal Crossing. _"Back in high school, we all thought he was mute."_

 _"Unfortunately, a good lot of his cult is still very loyal to their leader,"_ Looker had said during their on-and-off meetings. _"For someone as young as him, he sure knows how to control his subjects… those poor, brainwashed fools…"_

But here she is. At this dilapidated, neglected mansion that's now the Hideout of the remnants of Team Galactic. "Remnants" might be misleading, as it appears that a healthy half of his team is still here.

 _Whatever happened to the rest?_ Cynthia watches as B-2 bounces around the room, ass-bumping anyone who dares to give him a high-five. She watches as a couple female Grunts giggle before they swing their legs to his bulbous behind.

"Cyrus gave you a place to belong."

The words slip from her mouth before she realizes what was happening. Everyone stops and stares at her. And for once, Cynthia doesn't look away.

"I guess you can say that," B-2 says with a crooked smile. "It's really fun here. I've never seen anyone so strict on harassment policy as Boss Cyrus is. He really takes this inclusionary policy seriously. And if you even dare to break policy, you'll have Commander Jupiter on your ass." He shivers from an unseen chill. "Not a pretty sight."

"All employees must know the first clause by heart. You'll be tested as one of the qualifications to working here." R-8 slaps a stray ass from her sight, earning a yelp from her surprised associate. She clears her throat. "'Galactic Company Policy 1.001, Section a. : The Galactic Corporation is committed to creating and maintaining an inclusionary environment free from all forms of discrimination or harassment, including allegations—'"

"I'm sorry," she suddenly hisses. "But I don't think our Company Policy is funny in the slightest."

Cynthia gasps. _What's wrong with you, woman?!_ She mentally slaps herself. "N-No. I didn't mean that. I just… That's awesome, what Cyrus kept in mind when he built his company."

_It sounds exactly like something he would do._

"If you have nothing nice to say, then don't say it!" the Grunt with the heavy accent snaps. "We don't need your sarcasm!"

"He's right." All heads turn to the glowering R-8. "Look, Hero… I know you saved Master Cyrus's life and all… but whatever you plan to do with him… we'll stop you. We might not have any power left, but we'll keep fighting until the very end."

Words refuse to escape her mouth. Cynthia shakes her head until it hurts, until her throat opens so she can speak again. Her brain scrounges for something to say, anything to break this suffocating silence.

The Grunts are whispering amongst each other. "So, Miss Champion." _It's strange to hear B-2 so… unenthusiastic._ "Can we see your Garchomp for a second?"

"Um…" _Why?_ "Sure?"

As soon as Garchomp enters the fray, the Grunts waste no time calling out their own Pokemon. "Wurmple!" B-2's meekly worm raises its horned head and growls at the land dragon that's at least six times ts size.

Garchomp slowly turns to Cynthia. _"What the hell is happening?"_ its expression seems to say.

"Glameow!" R-8's Pokemon pounces into the scene. Cynthia happens to glance back to see that the Grunts have blocked all exits.

_Garchomp's right. What the hell is happening?_

"Wurmple! Tackle!"

"Glameow! Scratch, go!"

Garchomp barely bats an eye as the two Pokemon collides into its iron body. The land dragon just frowns. Wurmple and Glameow glare back with all the malice in the world.

_Do I really need to use a Potion?_ Cynthia keeps her hand on the medicine anyways. _It's barely even a dent…_ The Grunts quickly recall their Pokemon, leaving her even more confused than ever.

"Oh no!" R-8 presses her hands to her cheeks. "Oh no, your Garchomp is hurt! Quickly! You must heal it!"

"Um…" She looks at Garchomp, who blinks. "Um, no… It's barely even a scratch…"

"R-8's right!" B-2 shoves the shocked Cynthia and her Pokemon out of the room. "You need to heal your Pokemon! But don't worry, because Ginga's got you covered!"

"G-Ginnga?" A wave of Grunts propels her into another area—a more spacious room with a blinking machine in the back corner. _Hey, aren't those the healing things in the Pokemon Centers?_

R-8 and B-2 leap over the counter. The latter smacks his butt into the machine until it coughs ominously and springs to life, lights ablaze in the familiar blue glow.

"We can take your Pokemon," R-8 says, then adds quickly. "We won't steal it. We swear!"

Cynthia licks her lips. "Um. That wasn't what I was—"

"Please let us heal your Pokemon!" B-2 cries. "And please consider making a one-time donation of 10 Poke to our Ginga-Fund Jar!"

Another Grunt holds up said empty tip-jar.

Cynthia slowly shifts her gaze back to the main Grunts. Beside her, Garchomp is also staring at the scene with wide eyes.

The Grunts are growing more agitated by the second. Desperate, even. "Okay, fine!" R-8 holds up her fingers. "Eight Poke! Only eight Poke to heal your Pokemon! And this heap of junk works, because Commanders Mars and Saturn fixed it themselves!"

B-2 rummages for something in the back. He holds up a lumpy pile of shirt. "A-And as a special bonus, we'll throw in this Galactic Uniform! Unisex! Guaranteed to insulate you from the ass-biting chill of Sinnoh!"

"Um…"

"Please!" The Grunts fold on the floor like fallen domino.

Cynthia gasps. "No! Don't..! Get up, please!" _Don’t bow to me!_

"Please help us help Master Cyrus!" B-2 slams his forehead on the wood. And keeps slamming it. "We already have electricity, but we don't have the means for medicine! Please stay with us until he wakes up again!"

"Fine!" R-8's cry is shrill. "Six Poke! Only six Poke!"

Cynthia rushes to hoist the Grunts to their feet. "Don't bow to me!" she says, almost yelling. "Stop it! It's not right! Get up!"

Then she fishes through her pockets. "Here." The sound of coin against wood snaps everyone out of their funk. The Grunts release a collective gasp, and her heart squeezes painfully. "I don’t mind." Cynthia flashes a small smile. "If… If I can help, then I'm all for it."

The Grunts swarm to the glittering money like Meowth to its Boss. They keep their distance, but they're staring at the money as if it's more than just precious gold. "Oh!" a Grunt gasps. "Imagine all the medicine we can buy for the Boss!"

"What about the Boss?"

All heads turn to the scowling young man.

"Ah, Commander Saturn!" R-8 gestures him in. "You're just in time!"

"In time for what?" Saturn brushes past Cynthia without even a passing glance. His eyes narrow when he sees the mass of cold, hard gold.

"Look at this, sir!" B-2 yelps. "Money!"

"I know what it is," Saturn snaps, and the Grunts wince. "Where did you get this?"

"T-The Champion gave it to us! She donated to our cause!"

"Ah." Saturn cranes his neck around, his tendons popping with each twist. His smile freezes her in place. "You did this? You gave us charity?"

"Y-Yes—"

Saturn dashes his fist across the table, sending the coins flying to the air. The Grunts prepare to dive for the money until Saturn snarls at them to stop. "You! All of you, off the floor, now! You have no reason to ask anything from her!"

R-8 watches a coin roll into the floorboard's crack where it disappears forever. "But sir…"

"But nothing!" Saturn brings his heel down upon a spinning coin. Something cracks beneath his shoe. "We don't need her charity! Look at yourselves! You're an embarrassment to Team Galactic! Do you really think Master Cyrus would be proud to see you lowering your heads to the enemy?!"

"Sir…"

"Saturn—"

"Why are you still here?!" He whirls around. She stumbles back. "Da—Boss Cyrus doesn't want to see you anymore! Haven't you already tormented him enough? We don't owe you anything either, Hero! Why are you still butting into our business, as if you belonged here?!

"Just because you tricked the Boss into liking you doesn’t mean that we all share that sentiment! Just because you're the only that can make his life-saving medicine doesn't mean you can still waltz in and out any time you want!"

"Saturn!" She surprises herself by daring to shout back. "Saturn, listen to me!"

"Why the fuck should I—"

"And what is happening now?" 

Jupiter emerges from the shadows of the mansion. Everyone gasps and shuts up.

"Saturn," she says. "There's no reason to use that type of language around here." Then she frowns. "Why is there money all over the floor?"

"IT'S ALL HER FAULT!" Saturn jabs an angry finger to Cynthia, who immediately retorts.

"I was just trying to help! I swear I was!"

"She was!" The Grunts immediately duck their heads at Saturn's icy glare.

Jupiter crosses her arms. "Champion?"

"Y-Yes?"

"How much Poke did you give the Grunts?"

"Um…" _I honestly don't know… but it's well over six measly Poke, that's for sure._

"But Jupiter!" There's an ugly twist to Saturn's mouth.

Jupiter walks over to pick up a shiny coin. Shame flushes to Cynthia's cheeks.

"Grunts," Jupiter says. "Collect the money. Put it in the Ginga Jar."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Jupiter, no!"

"Saturn." The woman's face is grim. "Saturn, I don't like it either. But if we keep sitting around on our asses—"

"What do you mean that we're not doing anything?!" he explodes. "Money doesn't fall from trees, Jupiter! There's no reason for her to willingly help us like this! There's always a string attached! Sooner or later she'll call the police, and—"

_"Saturn!"_ Half the room flinches at her tone, Cynthia included. "Stop being such a stubborn brat and listen! You want Cyrus to get better, don’t you?" She thrusts a hand in the air. "And everyone hasn't had a warm meal ever since that storm! Have you seen the state of our clothes as of late?"

The younger Commander has his hands pressed against his chest. "Jupiter, please—"

"Swallow your goddamn pride and accept the goddamn money, brat! I swear, you're becoming more and more like him every day! Stop being so damn difficult or you'll end up _exactly_ like Cyrus!"

Saturn stumbles back as if he'd been slapped across the face. The Grunts cower to the walls. Cynthia quickly turns away.

_Should I even be hearing this?_

"Oh Arceus." Jupiter hurries to Saturn and holds him tight. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you like that. Arceus, I'm so sorry, Saturn…"

Saturn shakes his head into Jupiter's bosom. Cynthia catches the faintest of "It's not fair… I don't understand…" through his quivering lips.

_Should I even be here in the first place?_

Then a pair of boots bounce into the room. "Hey!" Cynthia squints at the sudden burst of sunshine. "Hey everyone! What's happening?"

"Nothing much," R-8 mutters. "Commander Mars."

Mars cocks her head, her eyes scanning the room. Jupiter drops her gaze when Mars happens to make contact.

"I'm not stupid," the youngest Commander hums. Then she claps her hands. "Ooh! Gold!" She drops to her knees to stare at the loose change. "Butt-Butt, get your stinky butt off the money. And everyone, can you help me pick up the Poke? We'll have a full jar today!"

"Y-yes, Commander Mars!"

Saturn hides behind Jupiter. If Mars notices, she doesn't call him out on it. Instead, she shrugs and turns to Cynthia.

"Miss Cynthia," the Galactic Commander chirps as if they were old friends. "I'm going to buy some medicine… and maybe some new fabric. It's getting chilly in here. Oh, and I better see you when I return, or else…" Her smile is unnaturally wide. "Let's just say that Purugly's absolutely _dying_ to see you again."

* * *

"Are you hungry?"

Cynthia looks up to see the tray of crackers. "Oh. Oh, thank you." She takes one and nibbles on the piece of tasteless cardboard.

Mars tilts her head. "Is it good?"

"Yes."

"It's bad, huh? Stale stuff." Mars crunches on a hard cracker. "Yesterday it was saltines. Today it's saltines. The future will be saltines." Teeth snaps through flour like axe against bone. "But not today. Today, we're going to have carrot stew."

Cynthia squirms in her seat. "O-Oh. Really?"

"Yup! Everyone's excited for dinner." Mars claps her hands. "Grunts! You'll help me prepare it, right?"

"Yes, Commander Mars!"

Mars laughs. "All right!" Then she turns. "Some of them are really competent with a knife. You happen to be in the area, ma'am? You interested in tasting my cooking?"

Cynthia blinks. "Uh…"

"It's not as salty as Boss's cooking," Mars adds. "Unlike him, _I_ know how to season. Did you know that he once put the entire jar of _pepper_ into chicken soup? I couldn’t breathe for five whole minutes!"

"Really now?" There's something strange in Cynthia's voice. And she's looking at Mars as if she was someone else entirely. "Must be some salty chicken soup."

"Hey, don’t discredit him like that." Jupiter pops a stale cracker into her mouth and sits on the worn cushion. She lifts one leg over the other. "You love his poffins, Mars."

Mars wrinkles her nose. "I like the sweet ones. But in the end, it's just Pokemon food."

Saturn watches this questionable gathering with trembling fists. A few Grunts tell him to go talk to Mars, to which he just scowls and retreats deeper into his hiding place.

_Why are Mars and Jupiter treating it just like a normal conversation? Don't you see that she'll betray us any minute now? Am I the only one that's aware of what's happening here?!_

"How are you all getting food?" Cynthia is saying.

_Why do you keep pretending to care?!_ Saturn screams to his mind.

"We battle other Trainers." R-8 munches on a saltine. "Despite time's going out of whack, there's still a lot of idiots standing around. All you need is eye contact, and boom! Instant Poke!"

"I won an Amulet Coin off an unlucky sap!" B-2 reaches for said item from who-knows-where on his body. His associates refuse to touch it. "With this, our earnings are doubled! Mwahaha!"

Cynthia snorts. _Stop laughing! Why are you still here? How can Mars and Jupiter be so blind to your tricks?!_

_And Jupiter! You're the adult around here! That woman is a stranger! An outsider! She's not part of our team! Why are you letting an enemy into our family?!!_

A hand squeezes his arm. Saturn stares at Mars's large, golden eyes.

"Come on, Saturn." Her grip is horrifyingly strong, just like Jupiter's. He yelps when she pinches a chunk of his skin. "Don’t stand there by yourself. Boss wouldn't want that."

Saturn inhales sharply. "But the HeraaAACK!" The pinch hurts like hell. Mars drags him to the living room and into plain sight.

"Tell him what you did, Hero," Jupiter says with a dismissive wave.

"Y-Yes." Cynthia peers at Saturn through her golden curtain. "I… I reapplied ointment to his burns. Mars brought back some really potent herbs. I also gave him some medicine to reduce his fever."

"Yup." Mars dangles her legs into the dusty air. "You managed to patch him up all nice and tight, but you still haven't fixed what was really broken."

Cynthia frowns. "What…? Well… I did set a cast for his arm, but his legs…"

"Not that," Saturn whispers. Then everyone's staring at him. "You fixed his surface wounds… That's great and all, but what about in here?" He taps a finger above his pounding heart. "Here… where your medicine will never reach? Where lies the real wound?"

The color drains from Cynthia's already green face. Her lips open, and hot air comes out.

Saturn shakes his head and turns away.

Jupiter clears her throat before the silence drives everyone mad. "So, Hero…" Cynthia jolts. The Commander leans forward with her hands on her knees. "What did you want from Cyrus?"

It takes a while for Cynthia to find her voice. And when she does, it's as if someone else is speaking through her body. "I need to talk to him."

_Sounds like someone from a time far away._

"You have more questions for him?" There's an edge in Jupiter's tone. Mars casually walks to Saturn's side.

"Yes."

"You can ask us. Or me." Jupiter crosses her arms. "I don't know much about the Time Gears, as I've told you before, but if that'll make that bumbling detective happy—"

"It's not for Looker," Cynthia mutters. Jupiter scowls. "I'm not here on anyone's behalf but mine. I just need to clarify something with Cyrus."

"Then tell us, Miss Cynthia," Mars says. "We can pass it to him when he wakes up."

 _If he wakes up._ That morbid thought crosses Saturn's mind before he angrily shoves it away.

Cynthia keeps her head down and says no more.

Jupiter raps her knuckles against a wooden chest. Her glare really is penetrating. "What could be so damn important that you absolutely need to ask him?"

Cynthia drops her hands to her pockets. Saturn notices some round bulge in the fabric. _A stone?_ Something milky white and at the same time sends chills to his spine.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "But it's a personal matter."

 _Tick. Tock,_ whirls the broken clock of the Old Chateau. _"Ghweee…"_ moans the local Gastly and Haunter. _Tik. TIK!_ Jupiter's nail slams against the moldy table. She exhales sharply, forcefully, to the point that her breath lacerates the softening wood.

Mars scoots closer to Saturn. He hears her soft whimper and squeezes her hand.

"I see." _Jupiter is annoyed. She's really annoyed right now. It's taking most of her willpower not to explode in front of everyone._ "Fine. I'll leave you alone, but I also have some questions of my own."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Please ask away."

"You're awfully docile today," Saturn hisses. Mars pinches his arm, but he has to say it. "You're not going to slam the table? You're not going to spit in our faces?"

Cynthia refuses to look at him.

Jupiter leans closer until her steely eyes cuts into the Hero's soul. Cynthia stiffens, but Jupiter won't let her run away. The room holds its breath until Jupiter's lips part.

"The stitches."

Cynthia flinches as if Jupiter had slapped her again.

_Why didn't you, Jupiter?_

"You know full well what I'm talking about, princess." Jupiter's teeth flashes in the dim afternoon light. The Grunts scamper back to safety. A blizzard encroaches upon the air.

"I… I…" Cynthia is so still that her shoulders will dislocate with just one touch. Saturn did contemplate on the possibility, but he's not about to disappoint Cyrus. He's not like _her._

Jupiter waits. Mars is staring at nothing.

"I'm sorry." Cynthia buries her face in her palms. "I'm so sorry…"

Then Jupiter explodes. "You're _sorry?!"_ Her face contorts into a shadow of its former self. "You're _sorry_ that he had to get stitches on his fucking head? What the HELL happened for him to need to get his skin SEWN back together?! It's as big as my damn hand! Are you _sorry_ that he had to walk around with a fucking gaping hole in the back of his head?!!"

Cynthia's shaky apology bounces off Jupiter's hardening heart.

But the Galactic Commander isn't done. No, far from it. "And would you kindly explain why the hell is his nose messed up? His chin? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM?!" Jupiter shoots up in her seat. Some Grunts actually start forward and scamper back at her murderous glare.

"Mind your damn business!" she snaps. Then to the Champion, she growls, "And what about those needle marks on his arms, HERO? What the hell was that all about? Why the hell would he need blood transfusions? WHAT. ARE YOU NOT TELLING ME?!" The roofs shake. "Do you even know what I'm talking about?!!"

"Y-Yes…" No more than a whisper.

Jupiter clenches her rumbling jaw. "Stop being so pathetic and look at me when I'm talking to you!" Saturn gasps when Cynthia finally raises her head. Mars drops her gaze. "Is crying all you can do? You're the legendary 'Hero of Sinnoh,' aren't you? Suck it up and act like one, you spoiled little princess!" 

"Jupiter—"

"Mars, stay out of this!" Mars flinches. Saturn quickly wraps an arm around the trembling young woman. "All her life, she's heard nothing but praise! Yes, you! You and your million other titles! Someone needs to slap some sense into you! You've been living in your delusions of grandeur for so long that you seem to forget that the world isn't some happy little bubble! Wake up and face reality, damn brat!"

"I'm sorry," the Hero sobs. "I'm so sorry!"

Jupiter scoffs. "You're sorry." Then her voice suddenly goes flat. "You're sorry that you hurt him. You're sorry that you kicked him around, threw him away when you're done with him. And now you're here because you're _sorry_ that you can't use his brains anymore, right?"

"No! No, that's not--!"

Jupiter slaps the countertop, and the mansion shakes. A speck of dust falls from somewhere in the air. 

Jupiter yanks the wanted poster from the drawer and shoves it in front of the Champion's face."This is what everyone thinks of him, correct?" Cynthia recoils so hard that moisture splatters to the floor. " _The Enemy of Sinnoh."_ Jupiter jams a sharp nail on the printed words. _"Wanted by Interpol._ Responsible for all the strife in the world after we took one measly Time Gear.

"He's officially the Villain now, isn't he? And if you, the Hero, can haul him to the guillotine, then the world will be a safer, happier place, right?" Her shoulders tremble in anticipation for an eruption. But when Jupiter happens to break from her trance, to notice her terrified audience, the rage vanishes from her face. 

Then the Galactic Commander drops her voice to a near whisper. "During the night of the escape…" Cynthia peeks from behind the cracks of her fingers. "Do you know what he did? What he said to us?"

Cynthia shakes her head. Mars is so close that Saturn can hear her restless heart thundering into his pulse. Somewhere in the air is the faint tang of rain. If he listens carefully, he can hear the tides crashing against the rock ledges… the angry rumbling of thunder…

And when he closes his eyes, he sees the white bolt of lightning illuminating Cyrus's face, all the sizzling burns and blood that caked his uniform. 

Then details reemerge in all its gruesome glory. The walls of the Old Chateau fades to the jagged bluffs near the outskirts of the sea. Beside him are Jupiter, Mars, and the Grunts.

And _he_ stands there on the other side, separated by a partition of rain, his Pokemon flanking him like a shield…

"He threw everything away." Jupiter's words are lost in the shrieking winds of the monster storm.

_"Team Galactic is disbanded," Cyrus said, his words slicing through the heavy rain. "I thank you for your time. You're free to go now… and let there be glory for whatever your future may hold."_

 _Mars gasped. For once, her usual childish mirth was nowhere to be seen. "NO! NO NO NO!"_ She's screaming. Mars had never screamed like this before. _"Stop joking around, Da—Boss! After everything we've been through, after all the years we've been together… you can't just pretend like it never existed!"_

_Saturn's heart trembled at her words. But as the skies grew darker, so did the sneer on Cyrus's ghastly face._

_"I keep telling you, Mars, but you never listen."_ Why was Cyrus so… harsh? So cold, to Mars of all people… as if she meant nothing to him. _"Your selfishness only led to disappointment in the end. Your denial stems from these wretched sentimentality in your heart! Wake up and face reality!"_

_Mars's knees buckled. Saturn rushed forward and caught her before she hit the muddy ground. There's nothing left in her eyes._

_"Stop it!" Saturn screamed to the torrential storm. "Stop it, Da—Master Cyrus!_ _I know you don't mean that!_ _Remember the_ _first time we met? The moment you took me in, I knew that someone still needed me! That someone was glad I existed! You saved my life, Boss! A-And all the places we've went, the things that we've seen? I still have the robot you made for me before…"_

Before everything fell apart.

_Saturn rubbed the rain from his eyes. He couldn't see Cyrus's face. "And then we found Mars, remember, Master Cyrus? And—and then we moved to H-Hearthome, and that's when Jupiter joined…" His voice was cracking. "After all we've been through, how can you just throw away our family like this?!"_

_Lightning ripped at the fragile seams in the skies, letting rain bleed out from the bruised clouds. Everything was distorted from the storm, so it's almost impossible to read the expression on Cyrus's face… if there was any. It didn't help that Crobat and Honchkrow were right in front of him… as if they were protecting him._

But from what…?

 _"Saturn!" The Commander flinched, and a draft leaked into his chest. "You're weak, just like Mars! Both of you dared to pay heed to your incomplete hearts, and_ that's _why you continued to be so fixated on the things that I'll never give to you! You expected so much from me that when the time comes for you to see the truth, you refuse to acknowledge what's happening right before your eyes! What do you hope to accomplish by holding on to such… such revolting emotions that will only hurt you in the end?!"_

_The world crumbled beneath Saturn's feet. Jupiter grabbed his arm just in time before he plummeted into the abyss. She shoved the younger Commanders behind her back. Despite the freezing rain drilling holes on his skin, Saturn's entire body was on fire._

_"Cyrus!" the older woman snapped. He merely tilted his head. "Are you crazy? Listen to yourself! How can you say that to them?_ You're _the one that needs to wake up! You might not know it, but you've made a huge difference in all our lives! We need you for who you are, Cyrus! Just you is enough!"_

_She slammed a hand against her chest. "You're the light of my life, Cyrus! Without Team Galactic, I would be nothing! Without you and Saturn and Mars… if you three hadn't been there, I'd still be chasing after the bastard who threw me away like a damn dog!"_

Jupiter never raised her voice like that. Jupiter was the calm, mature one. She shouldn't be screaming like this.

_And that's when those thoughts finally broke through his carefully-constructed damn._ Did Cyrus even have a human heart? Was everything that happened… all the warmth, the joys, the sadness we shared as a team… as a family… was all of that just one big, cruel lie?

_Cyrus squinted at Jupiter for the longest time… and he laughed. He grasped his chest and laughed, as if her words were the stupidest thing in the world._

_Jupiter flinched so hard that she almost slipped backwards._

_"And that's where you're wrong, Jupiter." The man snickered._ He snickered. _"You and your lacking heart… The price of wisdom is painful, is it not? If you don't mean it, then don't say it. I doubt that you've ever needed... needed..."_

_And then something strange happened. Cyrus's mask faltered, and gone was this criminal mastermind that just broke out of prison. Gone were the lies, the cruel words that marked this cold, cold reality._

_Instead, Saturn saw his Boss again. The same man that let him tag along from that rainy day, all those years ago. The same man that he came to idolize, to respect and cherish with all his heart._

_"What did you say?" Cyrus gasped. The mere sight made Saturn's heart squeeze painfully. Everyone froze, staring with gaping mouths as if their eyes were deceiving them."You... you needed me? You...think that I'm... that I'm enough...? "_

_But the change in emotion vanished as suddenly as it came. Cyrus shook his head vehemently, clenched his fists, and shot a poisonous glare into the bewildered crowd._

_"No, wake up and listen to yourself, Jupiter!" he snapped--_ screamed _\--to the wide-eyed woman. "There's nothing to be gained from telling such... such DISGUSTING lies! Did you really think I'd ever considered you… any of you…! I never considered any of you as anything more than just tools in my grand scheme! Stepping stones! Expendable baggage! I--" He dropped his head, his sleeve pressed against his mouth as his shoulders trembled._

_And he took a deep breath that shook his whole body. His Pokemon became more agitated by the second."I almost pity you," he said with that despicable sneer on his face. "Listen to yourselves... see how easily I've manipulated you to my own design... see how I've brainwashed you into taking my side. I've taken everything from you... every precious, cherished thing..._

_"Hehe... You're all gullible, mindless fools... I never needed any of you in the first place."_

_Thunder clapped like a brazen drum. The storm was Arceus's wrath, but to them, to Saturn and his team, it was nothing compared to aftermath of Cyrus's betrayal._

_Then the world plunged into horrifying clarity. The clouds finally lifted from the forbidden truth. "I… understand now… " Was he speaking? He wasn't even sure if his mouth was moving. "You… you took everything away from me! For your own selfish, evil desires…! Under all your lies and deceit, you're nothing but a crazed, manipulative criminal that turned our lives into hell!!_

_"And everything was just a grand lie!!" Saturn wasn't even aware that he was screaming if not for the ringing in his ears._

_"Yes." Stated flatly and impassively. Like a robot. There was nothing behind that loathsome, frozen mask… not even a hint of regret. "I lied. You should be used to it by now. And you know what else is a big lie?" The man touched a bloody finger to his temples. "This: I can care less about the likes of Team Galactic in my new world. Once I build the perfect world for myself… then what's the point of keeping fools like you around?"_

_You could hear the hearts of thousands crackling… shattering into disposable pieces. Saturn almost blacked out… until the blood flared to his eyes, and he forced his head up to glare at this man as the irredeemable psychopath that he was._

_"How dare you toy with our emotions like that!!" Mars hissed, shoving a crude gesture to Cyrus's direction. And the man merely wiped his mouth and smirked. She gnashed her teeth as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I hate you! I HATE YOU!"_

_"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" Saturn snarled, pulling Mars to safety. "That's all you were along! We're just puppets for your twisted bidding!" Rain blinded his sight, but the red blossoms gave him all the cold clarity to confront the man who took everything from him. "Are you happy now that you've won? Now that you've played with our emotions just so we would stay in this crazy cult of yours?!_

_"Oh wait!" Saturn's lips lifted to show pulsating gums. "You don't even know what HAPPINESS is! You don't even know what a FEELING is! You're not even human!!"_

_Cyrus simply absorbed Saturn's words with a chilling smile._

_"They were right! You're just a machine! A lying, heartless machine!" he screeched the cries of broken heart. And there's something else too... a stupid, needless flicker of sentimentality that didn't belong. "I can't believe that I ever thought you were… that I even dared to see you as… as…"_

_That word felt like vomit in his throat._

_Jupiter's knuckles were white. She kept still as a statue, and one little breeze could shatter her entire existence._

_"You fiend!" A Grunt shouted from the crowd. "How can you say that to them? To us?!" Then more voices joined in. Anger, hurt, disbelief, all those fiery emotions weaving into discordant chaos until their curses rang louder than the deafening thunder itself._

_"FREAK!"_

_"GOOD-FOR-NOTHING BASTARD!"_

_"SOCIOPATH!"_

_And Cyrus's lips just curved upwards._

_Jupiter was shaking her head, but even that was a weak gesture. She gave the man a long, pained look… until the blizzard finally possessed her eyes, and the veins corded up her neck._

_"After all this time…" Her voice rumbled like the shaking ground. "After all this time, after everything we've built together! I honestly cared for you! You were just so sad and lost that I…" She brought her heel down with all her strength at the same time that lightning struck the earth._

_"Thank you for telling me that I was wrong! You deserve a fucking needle to the brain! Oh, and it's only several years too late, don't worry about it!" Jupiter spits in his direction. "I_ knew _I should've questioned it when I saw those children with you! I should've called the police! The only reason I didn't was because you put up such a good façade to convince me otherwise! Drop the poor, defenseless act! You're nothing but a fucking psychopath, and you and your fucking delusions should just rot in hell!_

_"I'm GLAD they found your true face before you could destroy the world! I'm GLAD they threw you into the hellhole where you belong! In the end, you're just another two-faced liar, just like **him**!" Her face was black with rage. "You… you…!"_

"And you know what he said?" Jupiter's whisper cleaves across the rain-soaked memory. Saturn's mind slowly falls back to reality—to the dry, faded walls of the abandoned mansion in the woods. Mar's iron-clamp grip on his sleeve. The Grunts' faraway stares.

Cynthia's wide, puffy eyes and as her chest caves in and out.

_The lightning washed his gaunt face in a deathly-white glow, highlighting his sunken cheekbones, the black holes that used to be his eyes. Cyrus looked at each of them through his blood-stained hair._

_"You manipulative bastard?" he said with a smile. "You heartless robot? You emotionless freak?"_

"It was so easy for him to say that," Mars murmurs. "As if… as if he expected it."

_"I understand." Blustery winds broke his words, his voice now barely audible anymore. "Don't waste your breaths."_

Cynthia's hands fly to her mouth. Jupiter shakes her head and turns away. Saturn keeps a grip on his chest to keep his heart from leaping out and spraying the walls with blood.

"And he just smiled." Mars is talking to her hands. She's twisting the hell out of the poor helm of her shirt. "He smiled, even after we called him all those nasty things…"

"That poor boy..." Jupiter's gaze is fixated on another point in time, in a land of turbulent storms. "Right then and there, I knew that something wasn't right. The few times I've ever seen him truly smile… This one was different… perfect. _Too_ perfect…as if he'd been rehearsing it for this very moment…

"And when I finally used my damn brain, I saw it." Jupiter glares at her trembling hands. "Under all that blood and rain… under the stupid web of lies he'd made for himself… I saw his tears. Oh Arceus… he was crying the whole time, and no one even noticed."

Saturn hears her unspoken words. _No one even cared at that point._

"Can you imagine rehearsing your betrayal just for today... rehearsing it until you've hit every point, until you've shattered all the trust everyone had for you? The very people that have been with you in your worst and bad times?" Jupiter looks at Cynthia. The latter returns an empty stare. "And his hard work finally paid off. We left him. We turned our backs on him... We abandoned him. 

"And he just smiled, even as his heart was breaking in two." 

Jupiter utters a shaky sigh into her palms. "Oh Arceus, why didn't I realize that he was hurting from the very start? Cyrus, you stupid, stupid boy… why are you always doing this to yourself?" She sinks her teeth into her lips. "And I fell it. Every single aspect of his plan. I said all those things to him... Damn it! I swore that I'd protect him, and then he pulled off _that_ shit?! What does that make me? What the hell am I even doing here at all?!" 

Mars shuffles to Jupiter's side. Saturn silently follows. "But we came back for him," she says, dabbing Jupiter's cheek with her sleeve. "That strange light helped us bring him to safety. And the Champion brought him back. Everything's okay now."

Saturn glares at the wanted poster on the table. Mars grabs his cheek and whirls him around. "Saturn!" She slaps him. "Turn that frown upside down, Saturn! Stop looking like that!"

"Mars…"

Mars runs off to the other occupants in the room. "Everyone! R-8! Butt-Butt! Sit up straight! Stop sulking! Everything will be fine! E—" a violent hiccup "—everything will be fine! He'll wake up! Everything will be back to normal, and… and…"

Jupiter brings Mars into her arms. "I'm sorry, Mars," she whispers. Mars doesn't respond—she just buries her face into Jupiter's bosom. Saturn puts a hesitant hand on her trembling back. The Grunts awkwardly hover around the group until Jupiter pulls them in too.

"You're right, Mars," Saturn whispers. He faces her with a strained smile. "We need to be strong. If Dad found out we've been crying again, he's going to scold us just like last time." 

* * *

Cynthia still can't feel her lungs. She can feel her heart ticking in her chest. She can feel the musty air scratching against her skin, the smell of old, peeling paint grating down her nostrils… that odious, sour taste swelling in the back of her throat.

"You should go now." She looks up to see Saturn standing under the doorway. In the failing evening glow, the toll of stress is evident on his young, tired face.

_It's almost frightening, how much he reminds me of you, Cyrus._

"Yeah…" Cynthia stumbles when she stands. Saturn keeps silent as she struggles against the pins and needles in her flesh. "Where's Mars and Jupiter?"

"With Boss," he grunts, not meeting her gaze.

"Oh." Shadows bathe the Old Chateau in darkening light. The broken glass windows gleam bloody red in the sunset. The morbid sight reminds Cynthia of her last visit to Veilstone Headquarters… and even that seems like an eternity ago.

"The stew was good," Cynthia squeaks in a lame attempt to break the silence. Saturn is wholly focused on his shoes. She smiles at no one and follows him to the dilapidated foyer…

And bolts as soon as he turns his back. "HEY!" he barks. "COME BACK HERE!" She ignores him and continues to sprint down the hallway, working her way into the heart of the mansion.

 _There!_ She throws her weight against the unmarked door. Mars and Jupiter gape as a panicked Saturn almost rammed his head onto the floor.

"Jupiter! Mars!" he cries. "She gave me the slip! You shouldn't let her…"

But all of Cynthia's attention is captured by the bed in the corner of the room. Shadows shift, revealing a fractured blue eye.

The man regards her as if it's just another day in summer. As if he'd just looked up from whatever he was building to see that the girl had come back to play. 

"Cyrus?" _Can you hear me? Can you even see me?_

He tilts his head. Then his gaze slides down to the person hiding behind Cynthia's arm.

 _"Cyrus?"_ Shirona gasps. His brow furrows, and she stumbles back. The girl gapes at her future self before reaching a timid hand to the waiting boy. 

"Hey, what are you…" The Commanders' voices are so faraway right now... in another universe, beyond the golden shores of the beach… beyond the blazing rings of the summer sun. Time stands still as Cynthia and Shirona approach the bed, their footsteps marching in cadence with the tick-tock of a distant clock.

Something registers in those empty eyes. He frowns, as if a forgotten memory had entered the foggy halls of his mind. A very, very important memory… an obligation… something that had to be said from a time long, long ago.

Something long-overdue. 

And they're back at Beach Cave. Back at the rock walls with the faded chalk writings. He meets her eyes. Then his cracked lips part, and the next two words are uttered with all the sincerity of the boy's...

"I'm sorry."

...and all the regrets of the man's.

* * *

The last thing Cynthia remembers is her being dragged by Jupiter across the old mansion. She remembers being tossed out, the door slamming in her face. The chilly air of Eterna Forest feels so unreal… as if she'd just woken up from a vivid dream.

Shirona is nowhere to be seen. And when Cynthia happens to rub her eyes, she realizes that her sleeves are already wet. She holds out her hand.

The tears sparkle like the crystals of Crystal Cave, glaring and bright, their radiance exacerbated by the harsh light of the dying red sun.


	26. A Rainy Day Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mars passes the waiting game with a story of her own.

_"Lost little star… Come home someday, lost little star…"_

"What are you singing, Mars?"

Mars whirls around. "Oh. Miss Cynthia." She shrugs. "Just a little shower song."

Cynthia's smile is small. "It sounds so melancholy though."

"Exactly. Blame the stupid rain for making it even sadder." Sinnoh's weather rotates between days with sun and periods of rain. And sometimes hail. But it's always so, so cold.

Outside the window, a fat drop of rain tears through a particularly giant leaf. Mars rubs her sleeve over the glass, breathes on it, and traces the golden "G" with her flushed fingers.

Cynthia sits on a wooden stool. Mars catches a glowering Saturn behind the doorway but doesn't comment on it.

"He looks much better than yesterday," Mars says while absently stroking Weavile's crown. The cat purses its lips. "The medicine really helped."

Cynthia smiles. "That's good. I'm glad… I'm glad we got to him before it's too late."

Saturn's nails sink into the wall. Mars dismisses this and says, "Yup. You also have to thank his Pokemon. They made sure he didn't… didn't…" She swallows the cold stone in her throat. "Yup. We owe them a lot. And that shiny ball too."

Cynthia glances to the Pokemon. "Thank you," she whispers. Honchkrow pulls its fedora over its eyes. Weavile crosses its arms. Outside the window, Gyarados huffs and retreats into the pond.

Only Crobat nods, as if it understands her sentiment.

As rain continues to fall, the broken clock of the Old Chateau continues to unwind. _Tick-tock. Tick-tick-tock._

Mars traces a gentle finger along the angles of his cheekbones, careful not to cut herself. _The longer I stare at him, the quicker he'll wake up. The more he hears that everyone misses him, the more his body will want to get better._

_It's still just speculation, but it's better than nothing. Better than just waiting here without a definite goal in mind._

_Tick-tock. Plick. Pluck._

"Fever, fever, go away," Mars whispers, loud enough for his deaf ears to hear. "Don't come back another day. We want to play with you, Da—Master Cyrus. So please open your eyes…"

"It's a raging fever," Cynthia murmurs.

"I know." Jupiter pushes Saturn into the room. She brings a cool, clean cloth to Cyrus's forehead. "He's burning up. Like a damn desert."

Rain flicks against the window pane like falling cinder after a volcanic eruption.

Saturn rushes forward and presses his ear against Cyrus's barely rising chest. "False alarm," he hisses, and the room releases a collective sigh.

"He's looks like he's in so much pain right now." Jupiter rakes her tired eyes over his scarlet face. She uses her fingers to brush the hair from his unseeing eyes. "We can't even help him. It's just a waiting game now."

Mars opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She tries again, and fails once more. In the end, she scowls and turns away.

B-2 ambles into the room. R-8's with him, as are a few other Grunts.

"Hey," he says. "How's the Boss?"

"Out like a light," Saturn grunts.

The Grunts exchange a glance. Then B-2 clears his throat and holds up a permanent marker. "His sling is awfully empty," R-8 says. "A little art should lighten things up."

Mars claps her hands. "That's a great idea! We can show him when he wakes up!"

B-2 distributes the pens. He even hands one to Cynthia, who accepts his gift with a faint smile.

Jupiter's lips twitch. "That's so thoughtful." It's the first time in a while since the older woman relaxed like that. Jupiter hums some Kalosian song as she signs his cast. She even adds a little happy face after her message.

Then it's Saturn's turn. "Is that supposed to be Cyrus?" Jupiter snorts. Cynthia pokes her head out to get a closer look.

"Saturn, you suck at drawing," Mars giggles. "Look. Are those horns coming out of your head, or are those your cat ears? And you can't even link hands properly, even if they're just sticks."

"Mars!" he yelps. His face is red, as if he's a cat, and someone had just stepped on his tail.

_You're back, Saturn._

"I think it's cute," R-8 says. "You even drew a sun on his tie."

"Remember the last time he wore a suit? Man, that was something." B-2 laces his hands behind his head, a sleazy grin spread on his lips. Some other Grunts chime in with their own contentment. "G-4, F-9, I still have footage of blood bursting from your nose! I didn't know that nosebleeds worked that way!"

Mars puts her chin on her hands. "Miss Cynthia." The woman jolts. "Boss dressed up just to take your somewhere, right? What's the occasion? Hmm?"

Cynthia licks her moist lips. "He took me to the beach," she mutters, her voice soft and raw like the coarse, golden sands. "Valor Lakefront. He took me to see the bubbles."

"He took us to see the bubbles too! It's really a breathtaking sight. We had a little picnic. He even brought that gateau of his! It was so yummy!"

"It was too damn sweet," Jupiter mumbles. "He had to buy a new packet of sugar on the way back."

Cynthia's gaze is unfocused, as if she's seeing another place in time. "That's so nice," she says with a gentle laugh.

Saturn unclenches her fists. "Why would he take you to the beach?" he grumbles. "There's no need for him to dress up and—"

"Hey, Saturn, look what I drew." Mars turns his face to her drawing. "That's me. And you. See, _that's_ how you draw hair. That's Jupiter. That's Boss Cyrus, and Butt—"

"You just drew a bunch of circles with hair on them, Mars."

"They're planets, Jupiter! See! There's the orbits and everything! Miss Cynthia, stop laughing!"

"S-Sorry." She stifles a laugh, and a snort rips from her nose. B-2's cracking up. His infectious laughter fills the air, and soon the once-silent haunted mansion bursts into song.

Saturn pretends to look uninterested… and it would've worked, if not for his clutching his stomach and the sporadic chortles that rocks his shoulders.

"What will you be drawing, Miss Hero?" R-8 says.

Cynthia looks at Saturn. He crosses his arms, but he steps aside. Her head is lowered as she approaches the bed.

Jupiter squints. "What is that? The sun and moon? What's with that pattern?"

"Looks like a tattoo," B-2 helpfully interjects.

"It's cute." Mars traces the shape with her fingers. "Like a compass. With wings. A mystery as old as time."

Cynthia gives her a strange, fuzzy gaze. "Yeah." Her voice is faraway. "It's a grand mystery, all right…"

Grunts are lining up to sign Cyrus's cast. Some write big, some write small. Some draw pictures—there's a good majority of artists in the house, and the others... well, Saturn's art is a masterpiece in comparison. R-8 leaves a nice get-well message in her printed cursive.

"B-2, what the hell are you doing?" Jupiter lifts an eyebrow at the questionable Grunt.

"I'm just drawing my name," is the nonchalant reply. He draws a "B." Another "B." Giggling to himself, he adds an elongated "D" between the wedges of the previous letter.

"Come on, man," a Grunt groans. "You're a grown-ass adult."

"I'm just drawing my version of the Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon. Duh." B-2 sighs as if he's explaining to an ignorant pleb. "Sir Cyrus likes space, right? This is space stuff. See, it's shooting out stars."

Saturn shoves the Grunt aside. "You clearly have no idea what you're doing, B-2."

Jupiter crosses her arms. "Wow, Saturn. I guess you actually _did_ mature—"

"You forgot the spikes on the wheels, idiot!" Saturn whips out his marker. ""The Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon isn't something you can belittle! It has to be _long_ , like this! And you forgot the protective coating on the edge! You dare call yourself a Galactic Grunt?!"

"Oh! I see! Great eye, Saturn, sir!"

"Heh!" The Commander's chest is puffed like a Honchkrow's plume. "Who do you think I am? I'm Boss Cyrus's favorite Commander!"

Mars leaps to her feet. "I beg to differ!"

"Oh boy." Jupiter pinches her nose bridge. "Wait until Cyrus sees this one… I'll have to explain this to him, won't I?"

His Pokemon have been silently observing this strange situation. Weavile swipes the marker. It draws its own face, along with Crobat's, Honchkrow's, and Gyarados's on the blank canvas. The cat adds a spiky, smiling finger next to the sea of happy faces.

"Are they always like that?" Cynthia mutters.

Jupiter sighs. "Pretty much. I swear, it's like looking after a bunch of children."

* * *

The party moved to the living room to allow their Boss some damn peace and quiet to recover. No one bats an eye to the accompanying Ghost Pokemon. Why, some Grunts have even befriended the spooky inhabitants!

Mars raises a fist. "Thanks to the Ginga fund, we got new clothes for the colder weather!"

"You've been a big help, Commander Mars." R-8 grins. "You made us all these cute outfits. And you even kept the logo."

"Psshaw." Mars flexes her bandaged fingers. "It's nothing. That's my job."

"And we loved your stew!" B-2 gushes, his butt bouncing in approval. "Seasoned just right! Warmed me straight down to here!"

"Stop it." Mars hides her grin and fails badly. "It's nothing."

Saturn snorts. Jupiter chuckles. Mars clears her throat and focuses on the outsider in the haunted house.

"So, Miss Cynthia. What will you do now?" It's raining Puruglies out there."

Cynthia casts a glance to the droplet-etched windows. She absently twirls a stray lock of golden hair. "I honestly don't know. I'd like to stay until he wakes up, but…"

Mars cocks her head. "You can chill here until the storm stops. Just you. Us. The Gastly. That haunted robot downstairs… Fun times!"

Cynthia hesitates. "Haunted robot?"

"Something's down there," Saturn mutters, his face ashen. "Grunts have reported some unexplained phenomenon. We boarded up the basement just in case."

"And because Saturn's a big scardey-Glameow," Mars adds nonchalantly.

"N-Nah! Mars, stop making baseless assumptions!'

"It's true," Jupiter murmurs, much to his chagrin.

Mars waves a hand, bringing everyone's attention back to her. "Hey, why don't we tell a story? A rainy day story?"

A collective glance around the room. "A story?" R-8 mutters. "Right now...? Commander, I don't mean to be rude, but…"

"Then what else do you suggest we do?" Mars snaps, and the Grunts wince.

"I think it's a great idea," Saturn pipes up. "We can't do much with the rain anyway."

Jupiter rakes her steely eyes over the crowd. "I don't see why not. Who wants to go first?"

"Me! Me, me!" Mars waves her hands. "It takes place on a rainy day just like today."

"A scary story?" B-2 grunts.

"No, Butt-Butt. It's the story of when I first met Da--Master Cyrus."

Saturn tilts his head. There's a newfound light in his dim eyes. Mars smiles and continues, "I was this tall. Hmm. Maybe a little less… And you were probably this tall, Saturn."

Jupiter pats the empty seat beside her, and Cynthia wordlessly sits down. The Grunts settle to whatever surface area is left, their Pokemon and the Gastly also making themselves comfortable.

As the rain falls to the outside world, as the broken clock unwinds, as the ceiling creeks while no one is upstairs, Mars begins her tale.

"It was a dark and stormy night," she says. "Or maybe it was morning. Eh, either way, the rain just kept falling and falling with no end in sight…"

* * *

_"Rain, rain, go away."_

Is it still morning? Afternoon? Maybe it's nightfall already.

_"Come again another day."_

It's been so long… Where are they?

_"Father wants to play. So rain, just go away…"_

 _As the wind got stronger and stronger, the rain intensified, pouring down in armful of the sky's tears. The girl drew her knees closer._ It's so cold. _It's gotten to the point where she feels the chill in her bones._

_"Father… Mom, where are you?" For a town known for its vibrant flowers, there's nothing colorful about anything right now._

_Her favorite red dress was drenched. The poor helm was falling apart at the edges due to repetitive twisting._

_"Stop raining!" The gale laughed at her expense. The girl buried her head on her knees and continued to wait._

_And she waited until past, present, and future blurred into a singular notion._

Isn't anyone coming? Did they notice that I'm gone? I'm waiting for you to come back… are you also waiting for me?

_"Don’t cry."_

 _The girl's head snapped up._ Brother?!

_"Hey there." The voice belonged to a boy not much older than her. There's a twinkle in his azure eyes, a perpetual tug to the side of his lips._

You're not my brother.

_"Hey, no reason to cry, okay?" The boy gave a cheeky grin. "See, that's better. Yup, there we go! Turn that frown upside down!"_

_The girl rubbed the water from her eyes. The boy was still there, grinning at her with all the sincerity in the world. She stared at his ruddy face… until she noticed the person behind him._

_Somewhere in the bruised skies, a sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds._

_"Why are you out here by yourself?" the boy said. "Don't you have an umbrella? Where's your family?"_

_The girl's lips quivered, and she shook her head._

_The boy exchanged a glance with the man. Then it stopped raining. The girl raised her head to find a sky-painted umbrella above her, along with a pair of solemn eyes as faded as the nonexistent blue skies._

_"We can wait with you, if you want," the boy said. He's holding on to the man's sleeve. "Can we wait with her, Boss?"_

Boss? _The man's gaze swept over the two children. A cold finger tapped her heart, but it's not from apprehension… it's a feeling that she couldn't really place._

_"All right." Even his voice was faded, like a dry flurry in an icy landscape. And yet, an image of a sunlit beach snuck into her mind. The faint saline air lingered in her nostrils, despite there being drizzling rain around her._

_The man held the umbrella over the two children. The boy took a seat on the wet bench—sat right next to her with that mischievous grin on his face._

_"What's your name?"_

_She stared at him. He flicked his gaze to the man before returning to the girl._

_"Um… it's fine." He jabbed a finger to his chest. "My name is Saturn. That's my boss, Mister Cyrus. We're going to change the world."_

Change the world? What a scary thing to say… _But when the girl reflected on the reason of why she's here in the first place, why she's sitting on this destitute bench in the midst of a springtime storm… the idea wasn't crazy as it sounded._

 _"Your boss?" Saturn jumped at her voice. The man's eyes narrowed._ Boss… that's what Father's colleagues called him. Is this man running the same business as Father?

_"Yup. Mister Cyrus is my boss. I'll be his second-in-command, and we'll build a brighter, happier future!"_

 _The man named Cyrus nodded._ He's much younger than Father, I can tell. But still… he looks so old…

_"This world of ours is a crude one." Cyrus tilted his head, gauging her blank reaction. "Pain and suffering arise as a result of our incomplete spirit. I seek to remove such vacuous sentimentality to create the ideal world."_

_The girl realized that he'd finished speaking and closed her jaw. Saturn bounced in his seat. "Yeah, yeah! Isn't that cool?"_

_"Yup. Uh-huh." She bobbed her head like a brainwashed sycophant. "Pain is bad. It's not cool."_

_Cyrus saw right through her though. He turned away and watched the falling rain in silence._

_"So what's your name?" the boy repeated._

_The girl's gaze jumped between the two strange people. "Saturn's a cool name."_

_He's practically beaming with light. "Thanks! Boss gave it to me! Saturn's the name of the Roman God of Wealth and Time! Right, Boss?"_

_A silent nod. Saturn's glowing brighter than any star in the universe._

_"I want a cool name like that," the girl grumbled._

_Saturn's smile slipped. "But don't you already have a name?"_

_"I want a cool name like yours!" She threw her little fists onto the bench. "I want to be named after someone important! I want to be remembered!"_

_Saturn gaped at his boss. Cyrus measured the girl with cold eyes. "You name isn't something you can discard like trash." His tone was harsh. The girl cringed from the chill in his words._

_"But you gave Saturn a name!" she shot back. His expression darkened, but her naïve brain ignored his flashing warning signs._

_"That's different—"_

_"I want a new name! I want it now!" She lunged for his arm—and within the spark of contact, he flinched so violently as if she had bashed his head with a wooden plank._

_"Boss!" Saturn cried._

_Cyrus jolted back to earth. He stared at the pouting girl before him, a million calculations running interrupted in his brain. Something just wasn't clicking, and it showed on his face._

_"Boss?" Saturn was about to reach for the man, but he thought against it. The boy pursed his lips and waited._

_Cyrus shifted his boots. His brows were furrowed, and when he opened his mouth, nothing came out._

_"U-Um…" Saturn turned to the angry girl. "Um. Okay. I don't see the harm in—"_

_"No, Saturn. We can't do that. There will be consequences—"_

_"I want a new name!"_

_Saturn uttered an uncertain laugh. Cyrus messaged his temples, the frown deepening on his stony face._

_"S-Sir." Saturn mustered a weak grin. "Um… uh… Boss, what's another planet?"_

_Cyrus sighed. He measured the girl evenly. It's as if his jaw was hurting, and it was not a pleasant sensation at all._

_"What's your favorite color?" he asked._

_The girl grinned. The man flinched ever so slightly. "Red!" she chirped. "I like red because that's the letter Father always wore!"_

_"I… I see." A doubtful pause. Cyrus glanced over his shoulder, his gaze fixated on something beyond the falling rain._

_"Do you like 'Mars?'" he said softly, still not looking at her. "Mars… the Roman God of War, Defender of Virtue and Honor."_

_The girl clapped her hands. "Yeah, yeah! I like that! That's awesome!" It sounded important. And that important handle was entrusted solely to her._

_Saturn was bobbing his head. "That's so great, uh, Mars! Um… congrats! I guess!"_

_"Yay!" Then her chest caved in. The girl gasped as crimson flowers blinded her vision. The next thing she knew, she's in Saturn's arms as her heart flopped limply around._

_"Mars?" The boy searched for her face. "Oh no! Boss, she's hot to the touch!"_

_A shadow fell over her. Something rough and cold pressed against her forehead._

_"I knew it," he muttered, almost to himself. "I knew something wasn't right. How ignorant of me… Of course I'd overlook such a small detail…"_

_Then he raised his voice. "Where do you live, Mars?"_

_The sound of that name, uttered from his mouth, sent a flush of warmth to her bosom. Whereas that was from the fever though…_

_"I don't know," she mumbled to Saturn's chest._

_The boy looked at Cyrus with pleading eyes. "Boss…"_

_Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he sighed. He wrote something on a notepad and stuck that sheet under a dry area of tree._

_"I've included the address so your parents can pick you up," he said as he hoisted the girl to his chest. "How long have you been out here?"_

_"I don't know…"_

_Cyrus scowled. "You could've gotten hypothermia. Don’t you know how to take care of yourself? What if Saturn hadn't happened to be there? What if you…"_

_His scolding fell short on her ears. The girl rests her burning face into his coat._ Oh. He smells like those old book at the library back home. And the smell of those cargo planes of Father's business.

_"You'll be okay, Mars." Saturn flashed her a reassuring smile. He's keeping pace by grasping Cyrus's swinging sleeve. His boot munched in the mulchy ground._

_"Where are we going?" she said to no one in particular._

_"Home," Saturn replied. That world left a pleasant taste on her tongue. Just like ingesting Mom's warm honey tonic._

_Maybe it's the fever that's messing with her brain, but she swore that wherever Cyrus went, the rain parted for him to walk. A soft, golden light wafted down to his hair. From this angle, she noticed the sharpness of his chin, the hint of cheekbone peeking from his pale skin. Shadows etched under those mysterious blue eyes, yet they remained dim and alert._

_Saturn grinned at her. She smiled back and rubbed her head against Cyrus's chest, his irregular heartbeat crying an unsung melody to her burning ears._

* * *

_"Home" happened to be a cardboard of a house nestled within some other boxes in the middle of some trees._

_"You kept the radiator on, Boss?" Saturn removed his shoes and set them aside._

_"Yes. I'll have to look at it later." Cyrus set the girl down. "Saturn, see that Mars is attended for."_

_"Aye-aye, sir!" Cyrus nodded and rushed to the back. Saturn approached the girl and took her cold hands in his soft, warm ones."Come on, Mars," he hummed. "While Boss warms up the water, is there anything I can do for you? Mister Cyrus is really strict on sickness prevention."_

_Then it's ready. Cyrus tested the bath before waving the children in. The water was indeed warm. And blissfully hot. Mars sighed. Despite the chilly rain outside, everything seemed right with the world, if just for this one insignificant moment._

_"Saturn."_

_"You got it, Boss."_

_"Thank you." And the man was gone. Again._

_Saturn grinned into the shimmering water. "The other day Boss brought a bunch of shampoo. The janitor at work shared some with him." He showed Mars the little beige vials._

_"What does 'not labeled for individual sale' mean, Saturn?"_

_"I don't know." He mixed the liquids into the water. Mars giggled as he cupped a bubble to her face. Then there's bubbles everywhere—multicolored, glimmering bubbles within the small room with faded tiles._

_"It's so pretty!" Mars beamed, marveling at the sight._

_"Boss showed me this beach where the Krabby blew bubbles from their pincers. I'll tell him to bring you someday!" Then his smirk widened. Saturn snickered and pushed a gentle wave to her direction. She returned a stronger swell. He retaliated with a coastal surge. Mars summoned a tsunami that literally knocked him off his feet._

_They laughed. The children laughed until bubbles snuck into the noses, and they sputtered for air like flailing Magikarp._

Knock. Knock. _"Is everything all right in there?"_

_"Yup! Everything's…" Then Saturn saw the flooding. Mars sensed the boy's distress and hid under the water._

_"Saturn. There is water leaking under the door."_

_"EVERYTHING'S FINE, BOSS!!"_

_Cyrus opened the door—and almost rammed his face into the floor. His long legs flew like a scarecrow in an ice rink as he scrambled for ground._

_Mars cowered behind Saturn. The boy swallowed—hard, his little heart thundering down his body. They watched as Cyrus's expression changed from the usual impassiveness to surprise to shock and even disbelief._

_The walls were drenched. Soap bubbles dripped from the ceiling. The floor shimmered like an underground lake._

_Cyrus slowly turned his neck, and the children gasped. A vein stretched tightly across his forehead. Then he rolled up his sleeves, and Saturn lost it._

_"EEEEP! IT'S NOT MY FAULT, BOSS!"_

_"IT'S ALL SATURN'S FAULT!"_

_"HUH??! NO, IT'S ALL MARS'S FAULT! SHE'S THE ONE THAT FLOODED YOUR BATHROOM!"_

_Cyrus towered over the two children. He lifted his hands—_

_"EEEEEEP!"_

_"AAAAHHH!"_

_But Cyrus just reached for the deflated shampoo vial. His expression was unreadable as he glided the faucet head over the troublemakers and finished their bath._

_After that's done, he wrapped the children in towels and pointed to the door. They tripped over themselves on the way out. Cyrus stared at them for the longest time before he closed the bathroom door._

_Something's bubbling in the kitchen. The fragrant smell of warmth insulated the one-room box. Mars and Saturn sat still as possible, no one daring to make a sound._

Plick, plick. _Rain knocked against the windows._ BAM! _Something crashed in the bathroom. Saturn whimpered into his hands. Cyrus emerged with rubber gloves and soapy water all over his clothes, bubbles dripping down his impassive face._

_Mars and Saturn made room for the mop. Cyrus looped two rounds before vanishing again. Then he's back with the same unreadable expression, and behind him gleamed the now spotless bathroom._

_Cyrus jutted his chin. Saturn and Mars scrambled to the newspaper that was the table. Every step on the floor felt like an earthquake. Or maybe that's just her own rioting heart._

_Mars looked up to see a bowl of steamy rice gruel._ And… and is that a Persim Berry? _Saturn raised his head. "N-No canned food today, Boss?"_

_Cyrus stared at him. Saturn tore his gaze to his dry, white socks. "No," the man grunted. "You don't seem to be in favor of that."_

_Mars blinked. Saturn closed his jaw and said, "B-Boss. A-Aren't you going to eat too?"_

_Cyrus held up an opened can of tomato sauce. Saturn frowned. "No, Boss! You have to eat_ real _food!" He patted the space beside him. "Come on, Boss!"_

_The man turned away. Saturn groaned, "Boss! You haven't eaten all day!"_

_"Your food is getting cold, Saturn."_

_"BOSS!"_

_"Saturn."_

_Saturn glowered into his gruel. Mars looked between the two of them with wide, disbelieving eyes._

_"My parents are also like that," she hummed. "Then they'd make up. But then they're back at it again."_

_Saturn shifted. "Oh yeah. Tell us more about your parents. Maybe we can spot them around." Cyrus's frosty eyes were on her. The boy's smile was warm and inviting._

_Mars sipped the gruel—and made a face. "Ugh. This tastes like cardboard!"_

_"I think it's fine," Saturn muttered, bringing a spoon to his mouth. Then his eyes widened… and his lips tugged into that cat-like smirk._

_"Hey, Boss," he said. "I think there's something wrong with my bowl."_

_Cyrus frowned. Saturn held up a steamy spoon to the man's mouth. "I think it's fine," the latter murmured after a taste. "Perhaps it did need more salt after all…"_

_"Why is there a berry in here? There should've been meat!"_

_Cyrus dropped his gaze to his hands. Saturn flashed Mars a dirty look._

_But Mars was already on a different subject. "I have a big brother. He makes fun of me all the time. And he's always angry at everyone, and we don't know why. I think it's that time of the month for him._

_"Mom has red hair, like me. She's very pretty. And big. I want to be big like her." Mars sipped a scalding spoon._

_Saturn snuck a peek at Cyrus's expression. Mars continued, "Father likes to bury stuff. He likes to buy a lot of things. He's big and strong, and everyone calls him Boss, just like you do with Mister Cyrus."_

_Saturn pursed his lips. "So your father must be someone important!"_

_"I think so." The longer Mars stared at Cyrus, the more that fluttery feeling swelled in her chest. There's just something about this man that made her feel as if everything would be all right._

_Then it clicked. Mars launched a finger to his face. "You remind me of Father!"_

_At that point in time, she failed to register that shadow that fell over his face. She didn't understand why his shoulders suddenly tensed, why his hands showed the slightest tremble. Why… he's poised to flee from something too horrifying to even imagine._

_"Y-You don't mean that." His voice was barely there._

_Saturn swatted her finger from Cyrus's face. "Mars, stop—"_

_"Yeah, I do! You both have no eyebrows!"_

_Saturn tackled her. "Mars!" he yelped, pressing his hands over her mouth. "We don't talk about that! Boss, she didn't mean that—"_

_Mars effortlessly kicked the boy off. "But it's true! You both look so scary like that! Oh, and Father also uses gel to make himself look even scarier! I think his hairline is receding--"_

_"MARS!"_

_The girl giggled and returned to her gruel. Saturn's jaw scraped against the floor, dumbstruck at what just came out of her mouth. He shot a furtive glance to his Boss… and made a whimpering sound in his throat._

_"Oh no… Boss…"_

_"Earth to Boss," Mars laughed. "Saturn to Sun, over."_

_The light had faded from Cyrus's eyes. He's staring down at his hands again, as if he's searching for the answer to life's biggest questions within his callouses._

_"Boss?" Saturn hesitated before he grabbed the man's hand. Cyrus stiffened, and the boy yanked back his grip._

_"A-Are you still hungry, Mars?" Cyrus's head was bowed, so the hair covered his face. "T-T-There's plenty more if-if you want…"_

_"Yes, please!" Mars held out her bowl. Cyrus wordlessly took their bowls and shuffled back into the kitchen._

_Saturn was staring at her. "What?" she said. He opened his mouth, stopped, and just shook his head._

* * *

_Mars slept soundly that night. She remembered dreaming of her parents… her brother, how their faces burst into relief when they rushed back to the bench and saw her, still waiting there._

_"You were squeezing me," Saturn grumbled the next morning. He rubbed his arms and shuddered. "You're ridiculously strong."_

_"Thankies!" Mars beamed at him until his frown vanished into that crooked grin._

_Cyrus walked over and handed Saturn a bag. To Mars, he held up a familiar red—_

_"My dress!" She bounced to the man. He flinched ever so slightly at her presence. "Boss! You fixed my dress!"_

_"Boss can fix anything!" Saturn huffed._

_Mars took the dress with bated breath. "Wow! It's just like new, like when Father first brought it home!" She examined the needlework along the hem—delicate lines that could only be achieved through precise hands._

_She rushed into the bathroom and emerged with the dress. She twirled like a dancer, her face bright with delight. "Am I pretty?" she squealed._

_Saturn stared at her for a second too long. "Yeah! Yeah, really pretty!" There's a slight flush to his cheeks._

_"Yay!" Mars looked at Cyrus. He regarded her blankly… until his expression softened, and he made a small sound in his throat._

_"It's functional," he said, and Mars beamed._

_Cyrus made sure they dressed warm for the weather. "I'll walk you to the bench, Mars. Saturn will wait with you until your parents come back."_

_Mars pursed her lips. "Wait, what about you?"_

_"I have work."_

_"He works over there." Saturn pointed to the window. "See where those wind turbines are at? Next to that flowery meadow. Yes, over there, Mars."_

_"I'll check on progress during my break." Cyrus grabbed his toolkit and opened the door. "Are you two warm enough?"_

_"Yes, Boss!"_

_The skies were a melancholy grey, but it's not raining anymore. Mars stomped on a puddle, Saturn screeched, and when he dared to retaliate, Cyrus frowned, and that's the end of that._

_The note was still there. It fell apart when Cyrus touched it._

_"I won't be long," he said. The cold morning breeze rustled his hair, and his red scarf billowed like a cape. "When your parents do come, then… then it was a pleasure to meet you, Mars."_

_"It was fun." Saturn's smile was faint. Something kicked at her heart. "You'll always be 'Mars' to us, okay? Remember us when you go home!"_

_For some strange reason, Mars couldn't look at either of them in the eye. She busied herself by twisting the life out of her newly-fixed dress._

_Cyrus cleared his throat. "Well. I'll see you soon." He didn't say names, but she had the sinking feeling that he's not addressing her._

_Then he's gone. A frigid wind blew across the limp flowers. Silence settled on the thin air like hands pressed against a face._

_"You hungry, Mars?" Saturn's voice broke through the coldness like a ray of sunlight. She blearily regarded him. "Da—Mister Cyrus made us some food. We can have some while—"_

_"I'm not hungry."_

_"Okay." Saturn glanced around the soulless town. The spell of night lingered in the air, even as the sun rose to the pale skies. They watched as light flickered in households, windows opened, and sound once again filled this colorful and lively town._

_"What do you often do back home, Mars?"_

_She looked away. Saturn bit the insides of his cheeks. And he tried again. "You shouldn't say that to Mister Cyrus, Mars. Be more mindful."_

_"But it's true," she muttered. "He has no eyebrows."_

_"I know, but—" Saturn flushed into his hands. "B-But… you see… uh…"_

_Mars cocked her head. "People say I look like my mom. You don't look anything like Mister Cyrus!"_

_Saturn blinked. Then realization dawned on his face, and soon he's vehemently shaking his head. "N-No, Mars! He's not... It's not like that! He let me join him after he saved me from those punks!"_

_"Saved you?"_

_Saturn nodded. "He totally kicked their butts! And then he sprouted wings, and he pushed all the clouds away and ushered in the sun! He's a superhero, Mars! He's the real deal hero!"_

_Mars smiled as Saturn gushed on and on about his hero. His cheeks glowed with every animation of his hands. Mars liked it when he grinned. She found his smile to be the best thing in the world._

What's this funny feeling in my chest?

_Cyrus came back when the sun was high in the sky. Saturn brightened immediately._

_"Boss!"_

_"Saturn." Then Cyrus's eyes widened. "And… Mars. You haven't left."_

_"Hello, Boss!"_

_Cyrus hesitated. He brought his dusty hands behind his back. The children stared at him with wide, expectant eyes._

_"You should eat," the man grunted. "It's lunchtime."_

_Mars dug into the bag and brought out the bento box. Her stomach gurgled at the smell of cold rice and berries._

_"Poffins!" Saturn munched into the round blue bread._

_"Poffins?"_

_"Poffins are native to the Sinnoh region, Mars," Cyrus said, unrolling a newspaper. "Pokemon are fond of such treats."_

_"Father has a cat," she said. Cyrus raised a brow. "He loves his cat, but there's always this other one that want his affection."_

_"Show her your Pokemon, Boss!" Saturn said._

_Cyrus frowned. Nevertheless, he reached into his pockets. "This is Golbat," he said as the Pokemon sprang into the scene. "Murkrow. Sneasel. And Gyarados. Everyone, this is Mars."_

_Mars thrusted her hand into Golbat's gaping jaws. The bat flew back to Cyrus's shoulder. Murkrow cocked its head at this strange girl, and Gyarados lowered its head to measure the children with shining eyes._

_"Mars, don't do that." Cyrus absently rubbed Golbat's ears. "Golbat is—Sneasel, what do you think you're doing?" Sneasel froze, its claw millimeters away from Mar's bento box. The cat whimpered as it shuffled back to its Trainer's side._

_"Boss's Pokemon is so cool." Saturn petted Murkrow's crown. He laughed when Gyarados tickled his cheek with a whisker. "I want my own Pokemon someday."_

_Cyrus tilted his head. The man returned to his newspaper as the children eat and fraternize with his Pokemon._

_"I have to go back," Cyrus said eventually, glancing at his watch. "Saturn, keep Mars company until I return."_

_"Aye-aye, Boss!"_

_Cyrus nodded. After giving them one last, long look, he turned and headed back to the place with the spinning wind turbines._

_People passed around them. The skies cleared up, the warmth of the sun mingling with the perfume of sweet flowers._

_Cyrus came back when the sun hung in the horizon. He froze when the two children ran up to him. Mars launches herself into his chest, Saturn yelps, but Cyrus caught her anyway, much to everyone's shock._

_"Boss, boss!" Mars cried. "Let's go home!"_

_"B-But your parents—"_

_"Let's go back! I'm hungry! I can even eat your bland porridge!"_

_Cyrus looked at Saturn, who shrugged. The man returned his gaze to the grinning Mars. "All right," he said. "But we'll return here tomorrow, just in case they come back."_

* * *

_That night, when the moon is a glimmering star in the sky, the bathroom wasn't flooded. The food wasn't bland—it's salty as heck, causing her to explode into a coughing fit while Saturn ran around the room and Cyrus hovered above her with a glass of tepid water. When the stars sparkled in the velvet darkness, she's snuggled next to a snoring Saturn underneath warm blankets._

_When she happened to wake up on a whim, she heard the clink-clink of metal. She turned, discretely, to see Cyrus in the corner of the room, the moonlight illuminating the metal contraption in his bandaged hands. He had a faraway look on his face, but by then the fatigue had reached her brain, and she fell back into the safe embrace of sleep._

* * *

_They kept waiting. Every day, Cyrus woke them up at the exact same time as yesterday, made them food, and walked them to the bench. Saturn waited with her until Cyrus finished work, and the three of them walked back to the cardboard house that was their home._

_She came to know Saturn more than even her own parents… than her own big brother. The boy adored Cyrus, that much was clear, and he's dead serious about helping the man create this ideal, perfect world: a place free from pain, strife, and suffering._

_"I'm his second-in-command!" Saturn would boast every time._

_And it's always fun to listen._

_Cyrus remained distant and unreadable. He's stoic, composed… his routine monotonous, as if he's a machine. He showed little emotion and spoke few words. And yet, he cooked for them (or attempted to) and made sure their clothes were clean and dry. He chided them if they refused to eat, scolded them if they stayed up too late… while he himself practiced the exact opposite of what he preached._

_"What is he always building?" Mars would whisper to the boy._

_"I don't know," was the disheartened reply. "He says it's nothing—just him putting stuff together." Then his face brightened. "Hey, did I ever show you the robot that he built for me, Mars? Look at this!"_

_Cyrus had his odd quirks and habits. For one, he signed everything with that feather pen of his. And he always seemed… afraid when Mars hugged him. Whenever anyone initiated physical contact, for the matter. He just… froze._

_"Boss doesn't like it when you touch him," Saturn would remind her, time and time again._

_"Why? He looks so cold."_

_And Saturn never had a good answer._

* * *

_Cyrus read a lot. Like, a lot. After work, he took them around the town, lead them around the meadows of perfumed flowers. The dingy old library was his favorite place, as the children had to repeatedly, physically drag him out of the world of books._

_"Why do you always read the news?" Mars said one warm, cozy night. "It's so boring! It's just black and white!"_

_"Knowledge is a powerful weapon, Mars." Cyrus gave her a look, and her chest fluttered as if her heart had grown wings. "It's important to always remain vigilant. Always be aware of the world around you, Mars and Saturn. Don't confine yourself to your own mind."_

_Saturn peered over the newspaper. The radiator crackled in the distance like the crisp crunch of cinders in a fireplace. "I've seen her face a lot recently," he said. "What's the deal with that?"_

_Cyrus laid the newspaper on the floor. "She's the youngest Champion in the history of Sinnoh. Her victory over the Elite Four and the previous Champion is indeed a praiseworthy feat."_

_Mars squinted into the colorless face. The woman in the paper grinned back. "Champion?"_

_"Yes, Mars. The Champion is a legendary title reserved for only the strongest to attain. Mind you, physical strength isn't everything. Yes, prowess in battle is an asset, but a Champion must also possess inherent qualities that others can rely upon."_

_Saturn looked up at the man. "Couldn't you be the Champion, Boss?"_

_Cyrus jerked back ever so slightly. The children stared at him. "N-No, Saturn." There's something about that that made Mars want to hold his hand. That made her want to assure him that everything's all right. She settled her chin on his leg instead. He stiffened, but didn't scold her._

_"That's not possible, Saturn," Cyrus stated with quiet resignation. "Someone like me can never reach someone like that. It's out of the question."_

_"But you're strong, Boss," the boy muttered. "You're the strongest person I know."_

_The ice thawed from Cyrus's eyes. He regarded the boy with an almost… sorrowful look. Then he shook his head and returned to the beaming woman in the paper. She's surrounded by her fans, family, and friends as she accepted her place within the Hall of Fame._

_"I'm not strong, Saturn," Cyrus said softly, firmly as if it was the truth. "I'm not… strong at all."_

_The children glared at him. He failed to see that._

_"That's why it only made sense for her to become the Champion." Whenever he spoke of the woman in the newspaper, his monotone showed a distinct falter. A glaring crack punctured his normally composed mask. The veil in his eyes quivered to allow the faintest of sunlight into his frozen heart. "She dedicated herself to her dream, and she fulfilled it. All her efforts have not been in vain. The least I can do is to just stay out of her way."_

* * *

_Many suns rose and set. The small box soon became a home. Sometimes, she realized with fright, she couldn't remember what_ their _faces looked like. She thought long and hard, but the same two faces always popped into her mind. It's the face of the boy who always waited with her, and it's the face of the man who let her play with his Pokemon._

_Waiting became a game. A game of counting seconds until the sun dipped into the sky, and they'd walk back, the boy's hand grasped in hers, to that little house nestled within the garden of flowers._

_There was something wrong with Saturn. Yesterday his eyes were right there, and today, she had to crane her neck just to see his smile. The boy's voice had gotten weird too—he sounded like a musical composition that's clearly out-of-tune._

_Cyrus had a lot of stories. His rambling on nanomechanics and material dissolution and blah blah served as extremely effective bedtime stories. Aside from his science jargon, he knew a lot about Sinnoan mythology. Her favorite was the one about a Guardian of Emotion… and these peculiar relics known as the Time Gears._

_Cyrus reminded them that he didn't expect any companionship or attachment in return. They shouldn't expect anything from him either. This was strictly a professional relationship, and he's adamant on leaving it at that. He proclaimed all that without a break in that mask of his, but still, he let her stay. He never turned his back on them._

_And they knew that he would always be there for them._

_And how fate just loved to test that._

_"Dad hasn't eaten yet," Saturn grumbled one ominously dark day, when the clouds were black, and the air sizzled with moisture. He set down the robot that Cyrus made for him. "He said he ate already, but I know that all he had for breakfast was a crumb of cracker."_

_"I'll do it!" Mars stood and ambled to the Boss. He's washing the dishes, but he looked down when he felt something tug his pants._

_"Mars." His voice was always controlled. Just as she remembered it. "What's wrong?"_

_"Saturn said that you should eat, you big liar. You look like a stick."_

_Cyrus frowned. He shot a look to the glowering Saturn. "I will be fine." With that, he resumed his work._

_Saturn stormed over and grabbed his other leg. Cyrus's frown deepened. "You told us that if we don’t eat, then we'll get sick," the boy huffed. "But you don't eat, and you look pale as a Gastly. There's still a lot of food, Boss. You have to eat."_

_"I'll be fine," Cyrus repeated, this time with an edge in his voice. The children glared at him. He quickly turned back the dishes. "Mars. Saturn. Go to sleep."_

_"Please?" Mars said. "Dad, you have to eat."_

_The plate clattered to the sink with a hard **THUD!**_

**** _Cyrus whipped his head back so forcefully that his neck could've easily snapped. "What did you call me?" For once, his voice was not devoid of emotion. No. Not at all…_

_Mars staggered back. Saturn caught her before she fell._

_"I forbid you to call me that," Cyrus snapped. It sounded like a snarl._

_"B-But… you're our dad!" Saturn sputtered, the emergence of tears brimming to his eyes._

_Water pounded over the dishes like a raging waterfall. It's even louder than thunder._

_Then Cyrus flinched back with his hands clutched over his chest… as if someone had stabbed him in the heart and ripped open old wounds… wounds that never healed._

_"I… I am not your paternal guardian," Cyrus muttered. He's addressing the floor. "As I've said before, our relationship is strictly a professional one. I've dissuaded you about emotional bonds and vacuous attachments." A sharp intake of breath that rattled his body. "Heeding your heart will only hurt you in the end."_

_Saturn hugged Mars closer. The girl was bawling. The boy tried his best to hold it together, but his own heart betrayed him._

_Cyrus blinked—hard. "I am your boss," he said, barely above a whisper. He turned back to the running sink, and she caught a glimpse of his trembling hands. "If you two desire someone who can provide what you actually need… then I apologize for not living up to your expectations."_

_The words stung as if he'd just slapped her across the face… even though most of his vocabulary failed to register in her brain._

_"You made Mars cry!" Saturn hissed. The boy's voice shredded her ears like a grenade. A hold opened in her heart… a horrifying, irreversible wound. "No, stay away! Don't come near us!"_

_Thunder seized the house, but it's rendered insignificant over the deafening pounding in her head. Mars couldn’t see Cyrus's face. She couldn't even look at him. She did hear his voice, however… faint and guarded and all too unfamiliar._

_"I understand." Cyrus turned off the water. The back of his head faced her. There's neither shock nor surprise in that proclamation. No… just an empty resignation._

_Cyrus cleared his throat. Twice. "I won't force you to stay," he said to Saturn's blurry reflection in the kitchen tile. "If you wish, then I will accompany you two to another place tomorrow. You… you'll find a better family there."_

_Mars and Saturn refused to speak for the remainder of the night. They just stared at the bubbles in the bath that Cyrus drew for them. The man made their beds, and they crawled to sleep without sparing him a second glance._

_Cyrus was awake when Saturn opened his eyes. As the two children ate breakfast in silence, Cyrus brought in the two crisp, freshly-dried outfits: Saturn's favorite grey tee and Mar's red dress. They let Cyrus fix their collars and comb their hair._

_And soon Mars and Saturn were presentable members of society… and Cyrus seemed relieved to see that._

_"They have better food there." Cyrus grabbed his scarf. It slipped from his fingers, and he hastily bent to scoop it up. "They'll have meat for you, Mars. And they know how to properly season food, Saturn."_

_Cyrus reached for the doorknob—and hesitated. Then he shook his head and flung the door open, ushering in a frosty gale into the scorching walls of the house._

* * *

_"I see. Mister… Cyrus, was it? Rest assured that these two will be safe with me."_

_"Y-Yes. Thank you, ma'am. Thank you very much."_

_The children watched the adults exchange words and faces. The woman had a kind and caring demeanor, compared to the solemn young man opposite of her._

_Saturn gripped his luggage until his knuckles turned white. Mars squeezed his hands, very well cutting off the circulation._

_"You've taken good care of these two," the woman was saying. "Are you sure you want to do this?"_

_A pause. A hesitation. "Yes. I am unable to provide the necessary emotional support that they need. I hope that in your case, they can experience the proper conditions of… Yes. Yes, I am positive." Cyrus shifted, as if he's about to turn, but decided against it at the last second._

_"I see." The woman's eyes burned into his head. She smiled at the children. They didn't smile back. "And these children… do they have names?"_

_"Ma—" Cyrus froze. He dropped his gaze to his hands. "No." The woman raised an eyebrow, but she didn't receive her specification._

_After the longest silence, the woman finally sighed. "Very well," she said. "We'll do our best." She walked over and gently held the children's hands. They wince at her loving touch. "They're such good children. It won't be long until we find someone for the boy, and we'll keep an eye out for the girl's parents. Don't worry a thing, Mister Cyrus."_

_Cyrus slumped back into his seat. His head bobbed up and down. "Thank you." He stood, stumbled a bit, and hurried towards the door._

_"Mister Cyrus."_

_He turned._

_"You can always come to visit them."_

_Cyrus blanched. The boy and girl matched his incredulous stare. Then the woman escorted the children to meet the other kids. Only when they turn the corner did a faint, almost intangible breeze grazed the girl's eardrums. That voice, soft like a summer breeze in Autumn, squeezed her already exhausted chest._

_"I'm sorry."_

_Then the door closed._

* * *

_"Saturn, why weren't you playing with us?"_

_The boy turned away. The girl peered over his shoulder. "Why'd you bring that dusty old thing, Saturn?" she pressed._

_He didn't reply. He hid in his blankets, as if it's a shield between them._

_"Saturn." She threw his covers off. The other children didn't react to the noise. "Saturn. What's wrong?"_

_He slowly faced her. With his red-brimming eyes, he shook his head, and as he held the robot tighter to his chest, he said, "It's nothing. I'm fine."_

_"No, there's definitely something." Lightning illuminated the bedroom. Despite the puffy blankets and an actual bed, something was still missing. Something fundamental was gone._

_"I'm fine, Mars." She grabbed him before he could shut himself off again._

_"Saturn…"_

_**BOOM!** Thunder rattled the roof. The others just shifted in their beds and snored happily away._

_"I don’t want to be here, Mars," he whispered to the inky darkness._

Why? Everything's here. Warm food. Friends. A-A loving, caring environment…

_"Okay." **BOOM!** A barrage of rain shook the windows. "Let's go."_

_The boy sat up, his eyes wide and bright. "G-Go? In this weather? Mars, you really are crazy!"_

_"We can find Father and Mom." She told him to keep his voice down. "We live in a really nice mansion. It's near the forest, so there will also be a lot of Pokemon to play with!"_

_The boy leapt off the bed. He and the girl nabbed their belongings and stuffed them into the patched luggage. His robot was safely tucked between his clothes. The children tip-toed down the dark corridors under the silent watch of an old grandfather clock._

_An unforgiving gust slashed their faces upon entering the outside world. The boy held her tight as they stumble around the flooded ground, their boots squelching in the dirty whirlpools of mud and debris._

_"Do you know where you're going, Mars?" he screeched, shielding his eyes from the onslaught of rain._

_"Yeah!"_

_After who knew how long, after their bodies were battered and wet to the bone, she stopped. She glared at the stupid bench until red gnawed at her eyeballs, and the world began to tremble around her._

_"Mars? This is the same place—"_

_"I don't see you trying to do anything, Saturn!" She whirled around with a finger to his face. "How am I supposed to remember the place? It's dark and wet and cold and… and it's stupid! Everything's stupid, stupid, stupid!"_

_Lightning cast her distraught face in white. The boy reached for her, but she swatted his hands away. "I should've known that no one was waiting for me!" The rain laughed at her misery. Hot, angry tears streamed down her cheeks. "No one cares! No one was going to come, and no one did! I waited and waited like a stupid girl! And for what? FOR NOTHING!!"_

_"Mars!"_

_"Saturn, you don't understand! You don't know what it's like to wait for someone that will never come! You don't know how painful it is to keep telling yourself to believe… to have hope… that things will got back to the way it was!"_

_The boy's face was grim. His chin was quivering. Dark hair framed his eyes, plastered to his skin by the pounding rain. "Be quiet, Mars!" he snapped. The girl winced. "Don't talk like that! It's not—" A violent hiccup shook his body._

_And then his expression hardened, and his lips lifted to show teeth. "You have no idea what you're talking about! You have it all too easy! At least you_ had _a mother and a father who loved you! At least you_ had _a big fancy mansion to return to! You knew what it was like to feel safe and warm, never had you struggled to find shelter now, have you?!_

_"Well, your majesty? WELL?!" The boy's screaming himself hoarse. "I can't stand people like you! I hate this stupid, ugly world! I hate how some people can have everything while I had nothing but false hope!"_

_The girl tripped over feet. Rain sloshed into her exposed pores. "Sa… Saturn…"_

_"There's no such thing as heroes in this world, Mars! There's no such thing as happiness, love… everyone's in it for themselves!" He dropped his head into his palms. "You're right, Mars… I was stupid. I waited, and waited…"_

_Something frizzled in the dense storm. Something was coming, and that something didn't belong in this sea of darkness._

_"And waited until I stupidly latched on to whoever that came my way! It was a mistake to follow him! I was just an obstacle in his path! He'll never see me like how I see him! All I am is a tool to him! I was never… never…"_

_"…ars! …urn!"_

_"I HATE HIM!" The boy banged his fists into the ground. "If he needed me, then he would never have left us like that! Like we're just something he could throw away—"_

_"Mars! Saturn!"_

_Something fell on the ground behind them. The man wiped the water from his face and scrambled to his feet._

_"MARS! SATURN!" Cyrus yanked the children off from the shallow pond. He glared at them through the hair in his eyes. "What the hell were you two thinking! How could you two be so damn stupid?!"_

_The children gaped at him. Cyrus scowled and brought them to his vibrating chest… to the source of all warmth._

_"You both have fevers!" Cyrus was yelling at this point._ Was he even aware of that? _"Why were you two wandering around in the storm! You could've died!!"_

_The girl stared at the boy, who returned a dumbfounded expression. Cyrus clicked his teeth. He held the children close as he sped down the flower-filled streets._

_Cyrus came dangerously close to falling again on numerous occasions, but he always kept going like a madman. His heart was a thrashing gong against Mars's head. **BOOM. BOOM. BOOM!** Like the thunder overhead._

_He skidded to a stop. It's a store, and it's closed, as the sign read._

**_BAM!_ ** _The children jolted when Cyrus planted a soaking boot to the wall. The glass would've caved in if the underpaid, glassy-eyed teenager hadn't peeked out of the blinds._

_"Yo, what the fuck, man? Go be crazy somewhere—" The teenager's eyes widened at the sight of the agitated doctoral student and the two scarlet-faced children._

_"Give me something with acetaminophen! Now!" The off-duty employee scampered to find the medicine. He flung open the door, and Cyrus nearly rammed his face into the counter. The latter slapped a handful of Poke and grabbed the item._

_"H-Hey! Wait, man! That's the brand for children! What about…"_

_But Cyrus was long gone by then._

* * *

_The house was in compete disarray… at least, compared to how Cyrus usually lived._

_"Go." At that command, the children scurried to the bathroom. As the hot water hissed loudly, Cyrus peeled off their soggy clothes and set upon scrubbing all the tell-tale signs of hypothermia from their bodies._

_"Saturn, take care of Mars." And he's flying out of the room again. The boy stared at the girl. They quieted the faucet to hear the conversation from the other side of the door._

_"I apologize for the sudden interruption. Y-Yes. I’m here now. Yes, ma'am. I found them. Thank you for letting me know as soon as… Yes. O-Oh. No, I'll bring them back as soon as they recover. Yes. Thank you very much. I apologize for the inconvenience."_

_Mars and Saturn immediately duck into the water when Cyrus returned. He had his fingers on his temples, his brow scrunched in pain. If possible, he looked as if he's barely containing everything in his stomach._

_After the children were bathed and dried and properly clothed, Cyrus wrapped them in blankets and proceeded to clean up the mess he made in the house._

_The girl inhaled her gruel when it's offered. The boy ate his in silence. Cyrus wouldn't leave them alone, even after she drank that disgusting medicine. He told them to go to sleep, which they promptly did._

_Or pretended to. When shadows engulfed the moon, the girl nudged the boy, and the two opened their eyes._

_Cyrus was passed out on the floor. The exhaustion had finally caught up to him._

* * *

_The girl felt much better in the upcoming days. It might be due to the blankets, the inclusion of meat in her meals, or it might be the medicine. She liked to attribute the cure to the extremely salty chicken soup and the super-sweet gateau that was just right for her tastes._

_The color had returned to the boy's face. Soon he's able to smile at her just like before, but at the same time, something had changed within him. Both of them have changed, and there's no going back now._

_Cyrus kept in check with the woman. He assured her that the children were doing well, and soon he'll bring them back._

_And that thought sent a fist to her heart._

_"Yes, ma'am," Cyrus was saying. The boy looked at the girl. "Their fevers are down. Fortunately, it wasn't hypothermia. Yes. Yes, thank you. I won't trouble—"_

_A pause. Cyrus frowned. "My voice? No, I…" He cleared his throat. "It must be the line. It's been raining for a while now. Perhaps that's what's causing the fluctuation. Yes, I assure you that I am fine."_

_The look on Saturn's face only confirmed Mars's suspicions._

* * *

_The day eventually came when Cyrus made them presentable again. By then, the sun was high in the cloudless skies. The only signs of rain were left in the remnants of puddles about the vibrant flowers._

_Cyrus knelt to fix Mar's dress. His fingers accidentally grazed her shoulder, and she flinched back as if he'd burned her._

_The man flinched. He squinted at the girl, even though she's right in front of him. "Mars," he croaked. "Do you still feel feverish?"_

_"No." Mars bit her lips. She stared right into his glassy eyes. The room felt like a scorching desert._

_Cyrus looked at Saturn. "I'm also good," the boy muttered, setting down his bowl._

_Relief washed through Cyrus's flushed face. "Ah. Well then. I must be imagining things." He rose to his feet—and slumped against the nearest wall._

_"What is this…?" He pressed a trembling hand against his forehead and drew back beads of moisture. Some kind of complex equation flashed through his eyes, but he shook his head and forced himself to straighten._

_"Focus," he hissed not to the children. Cyrus bent to collect the bowls. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered at his feet. He blinked. And blinked again like a malfunctioning robot._

_Saturn took a step forward. "No," Cyrus snapped—and coughed into his sleeve. "Stay back. I'll clean it up."_

_"You're bleeding," the boy whispered. Cyrus squinted at the blossoming red flowers on his hands._

_"I'm fine," was the hoarse reply. "I'll be fine…" His face blanched to the color of snow. There's something wrong with his breathing, and that terrified the children._

_"I have the broom!" Mars cried._

_Saturn nodded. "Thanks, Mars! Get some medicine, quick!"_

_"Okay!"_

_"Stop… Mars, where are you…"_

_Mars was already out of the house before Cyrus could finish his sentence. She rushed down the flowery streets, past the gawking people until she reached that stupid store. The lazy clerk gaped upon sight._

_"Hey!" he yelped. "You're the one with that weirdo from the other day!"_

_"I need medicine!"_

_The medicine was placed in her hands. Mars gasped. "Take it," the underpaid employee said with a crooked grin. "He technically_ did _pay for this. Go take care of your dad, kid!"_

_"Thank you! Thank you so much!" Mars barreled from the storm and returned home within a couple of minutes._

_"You're back!" Saturn hugged her. Cyrus hadn't moved from his spot, but he did look progressively worse than before._

_"S-Stop." Some sort of authority snuck into his voice, but by then he's swaying into the arms of unconsciousness. "Stay away. You'll get sick. You can't go back if you're sick." Then his eyes narrowed. "Mars. Why did you take—"_

_"The lazy guy gave it to me!" she yelled. Cyrus grimaced and covered his ears. "He said that I should take care of you, Boss!"_

_While Saturn fumbled around in the kitchen, Mars attempted to coax Cyrus to rest. He's staunchly stubborn, so she latched onto his arm. Down he went, just like a sack of feathers. She dragged him to the blankets while Saturn arrived with a bowl of piping hot gruel._

_Mars made sure to blow on the spoon first. "Here comes the C-5 Cargo Plane! Vrroom!" She aimed the spoon for the man's mouth, only to jam it into his nose instead._

_"Boss!" she snapped. "Open wide!"_

_"I… I don't…"_ Gotcha! _Cyrus almost choked at her victory._

_"The medicine, Mars!"_

_"Saturn, get me some water!"_

_"No… stop. I'm fi—"_

_"Sit down, Boss! You look like a zombie!"_

* * *

_That night, Cyrus's fever had dropped from a raging volcano to a rampant Ice-Age chill._

_"I'm sorry," Cyrus muttered. Mars looked at Saturn. The man covered his face with an arm and continued, "I didn't mean to inconvenience you. I'll take you home after this nonsense is settled."_

_Mars bit the inside of her cheeks. "No."_

_Cyrus slowly lifted his hand. "I'm sorry? We'll find your parents, Mars. I'll keep searching—"_

_"They're not coming back," she said with a small smile. Cyrus's eyes widened. "They left me. It's been almost a year, Mister Cyrus. No one waits for a year."_

_Cyrus absorbed her words with a pensive frown. He shifted his gaze to the window, to the bright and milky moon in the star-studded skies._

_"There's nothing to gain by staying with me," Cyrus murmured to the air. "I can't give you anything, and what you need I grossly lack. You desire a proper family, yes? I am unqualified for such a position."_

_Mars shook her head. "I want to stay with you, Boss. I want to stay with you and Saturn. You two were always there for me. You came back for us, when no one else did…"_

_Cyrus blinked, as if she's speaking a foreign language. The gears spun madly in his head. Then he gasped. "What I did was illogical. I wasn't… thinking." He turned away. "In essence, I've kidnapped you and forced a new identity upon you. You had a name, a life, memories to cherish… If you stay with me, then you'll be throwing all that away. It's not worth it, Mars."_

_"But I like my name," Mars huffed, poking his hollow cheek. He stiffened. "I like this place. I like your poffins and your salty soup. I like Saturn… and I like you, Boss."_

_Cyrus is frowning, but he's not really seeing her._ It… is a frown, right?

_RING!_

_The children jumped. Cyrus shakily sat up when Mars tackled him down. Saturn brought the bulky phone over to the dazed man._

_Cyrus cleared his throat. "Hello?"_

"CYRUS, YOU SLACKER!" _Cyrus yanked the phone away from his ear._ "Do you even want your job anymore? You think that you're such a hotshot that you could skip work whenever you want? You never clocked in at all last week!"

_Cyrus hesitated. "No, sir. I had no intention of shirking work. I can make up for it—"_

"You millennials and your lazy work ethic! Just because you have an expensive piece of paper doesn't mean that you're better than everyone else! You never think of the consequences, do you? Well, I have, and I think it's time you leave, boy. If that old janitor hadn't asked me where you were, then maybe you would've kept leeching off my company!"

_Cyrus was white from head-to-toe. His mouth was open, but no words came out. And his hands were trembling once more._

"Aw, are you feigning sickness, you irresponsible piece of shit? All the more reason for me to cut you loose and actually bring someone with looks—"

 _Saturn wretched the phone away. "He_ is _sick!" he growled. "You don't know him at all, ignorant fool! You're only giving him a headache with your babbling!"_

"Who the hell—"

_"Yeah!" Mars snarled. "You're a waste of his time and effort! Go be ugly somewhere else, ugly! I hope someone replaces you! Presumably someone with a cute daughter like me!"_

"What the—"

 _Saturn slammed the phone down. He's grinning madly, his lips stretched in an uncanny way. Mars was panting with the same giddiness as the boy._ _Then reason hit the children, and the instantly bowed their heads. "We're sorry! We didn't mean to get you fired!"_

_Cyrus stared at them for the longest time ever. Then he dropped his head, and he pulled his knees to his chest._

He's not mad?!

_"It's fine." A cough to the sleeve. "I was thinking of moving on, anyway. This town is too small for any progress to be made." He put his chin on his knees. "I'll collect the paycheck tomorrow… and say farewell to the janitor. Do you two want to come along? I'll introduce you… ah, and I have to let her know that you're safe."_

_He sighed. "I have enough means to rent a small space in the next city. I can find work there… and we'll discuss our next course of action then."_

_Mars grinned. Saturn was nodding with the familiar old glow to his face. The children laid their heads on Cyrus's side. He jolted, but he let them be._

_As the trees resulted in the silent night, Mars raised her head to catch those mysterious blue eyes once more. "Where are we going next, Boss?" she said._

_"Hearthome City." There's a faint but present tug in Cyrus's lips. Saturn lifted his eyebrows. "It's a popular destination with tourists. We might advance our cause then… in the place known as the Crossroads of Sinnoh."_

* * *

Cynthia is the first to break the silence with a gasp.

"What is it?" Mars cocks her head. Cynthia realizes something, and she quickly shakes her head.

 ** _BOOM!_** The Gastly cower from the explosive thunderclap.

"So you basically got him fired," B-2 huffs with a crooked grin.

"He was fired already by that asshole of a boss," R-8 grumbles, crossing her arms. "About time he left. I hear that place has a new owner now. That janitor really turned things around."

Jupiter looks between her two Commanders. "So in the end, he let you stay with him." She utters a quiet laugh. "Oh Cyrus… you hypocrite of a boss…"

"And then we became Team Galactic," Saturn says with a faraway smile. "At the Crossroads of Sinnoh…"

Time marches in the distance. Rain sings a somber melody nearby.

"Nyaaa!" Weavlie bursts into the room, followed by a horde of Gastly. "Nyeee! Nyeeeruss!" The cat jumps up and down, arms frantically flying about.

Then everyone rushing after the Pokemon as it speeds down the dusty hallway. Jupiter flings open the unmarked door.

 _Plick. Plick._ He's upright, watching the storm in silence. Only the areas around his nose, mouth, and one exposed eye are visible underneath those thick bandages. He remains perfectly still and unresponsive—until Weavile leaps into his arms, and he shifts to face his audience.

"Ah." It's as if the wind itself is speaking. "Mars. Saturn. Is something wrong?"

The Commanders gasp. Cyrus tilts his head. "Were you always this tall?"

"Boss!" They rush to his bedside. "Boss, you're awake!"

"Awake? It's not nighttime yet…" Cyrus rubs his temples. "Saturn… weren't you playing that videogame of yours? The one with the jumping plumber?"

Saturn's barely holding back his dam. Cyrus turns his unfocused gaze to the younger woman. "Mars… Will poffins be all right today? I'll buy some meat tomorrow, so…"

Then he locks eyes with Jupiter. The woman steadies a hand over her heaving chest.

"Mars," Cyrus says. "Is that your mother?"

Mars jams her fingers to the underside of her lips. "No, Boss… That's… that's Jupiter. Remember…?"

Cyrus's brows furrow. "Ah. I apologize, Miss Jupiter. I don't seem to recall your name…"

Jupiter is shaking her head. "Cyrus…"

The man blinks. A curtain of gold catches his attention. Cynthia hesitates before stepping forward to the light.

And Cyrus's expression softens. "Ah. Are you on tour? Congratulations, Miss Sinnoh Champion. I knew you could do it. You're the strongest person I know."

Everyone's head snaps to Cynthia. She flushes, and her hands fly to her mouth.

"Cyrus…"

Cyrus nods. And nods again… and slumps back into the pillow, returning silence to the mansion once more.


	27. The Crossroads of Sinnoh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jupiter fulfills a long-overdue favor for Cynthia.

Jupiter hesitates. It's that frustrating feeling—the feeling when feet freeze in place, when the brain screams at its muscles to move while every fiber of the body simply refuses to obey.

Someone nudges her elbow. Mars and Saturn. B-2, R-8, and the Grunts are waiting with their knuckles pressed against their lips. And there's Cynthia, hovering uncertainly behind the sea of bowl-cuts like an oasis in the desert.

_They're right. I can do this. Be strong, Jupiter… They're all counting on you._

She grasps the cold metal knob. Thunder hits the skies at the moment her heel hits the doorway.

"Cyrus," she says, loud enough to be heard but gentle enough not to surprise him. He's upright again, watching the rain with his Pokemon on his lap. Not doing anything aside from sitting and looking.

"Hey, kid." Jupiter smiles as she approaches his bedside. _Baby steps, Jupiter._ "I got you some soup. It's good soup today."

Cyrus simply stares at her. His Pokemon nudge his hand, whimpering in their language to his deaf ears. He blinks and returns his unfocused gaze to the woman before him. It's taking most of her willpower just to maintain that smile. She sits on the edge of his bed and sets the tray on a nearby stool.

"The soup's hot." She scoops a shaky spoonful of the clear broth. _Dammit be still!_ "I made this, so I don't want to hear any complaints, okay?"

That blank stare again. Jupiter's hands are trembling, and she hates that. With a sharp clamp of her tongue, she straightens enough to bring the spoon to his unopened lips. "Come on, Cyrus," she mutters, well aware of her own voice breaking. "Open your mouth. Eat the soup. Please, Cyrus, look at me, dammit…"

His good eye is pasted on the spoon, but he's not _seeing_ anything. Nothing resonates in that faded blue veil. Then he tilts his head, earning him a frown from Jupiter. "What is it?" she said. "Is there something behind me?"

There's nothing. Of course. Just wall. But Cyrus is staring at it intently as though there _is_ indeed something behind her. His stare lingers on that empty space for a few seconds before he turns his head, as if that presence had just left the room.

And it doesn't help when the hairs of her neck are rising on end.

"Did it suddenly colder in here?" Mars whispers, rubbing her arms. "Saturn, you felt that right? Something just passed—"

"It's just a draft," Saturn hisses. "It's rainy. This mansion's been in complete neglect. It's falling apart, and the storm's finding its way in."

"What are you looking at, Master Cyrus?" B-2 murmurs, his face ashen. "Arceus, someone wake him up; he's starting to scare me—"

R-8 jams a finger to his nosy lips. The audience returns their attention to the oldest Commander, their impromptu leader. She's currently busy herself: trying to coax their fallen boss to eat that damn soup.

"Cyrus," Jupiter is saying. Her tone is deliberately harsh. All he's giving her is that disturbingly vacant stare. "Dammit Cyrus! Snap out of it! Open your goddamn mouth and eat the goddamn soup!"

The words barely leave her lips when his spine gives out, and he collapses back onto the bed. Weavile sighs, then moves to his head, curling itself next to his pillow. Crobat passes a wing over his unseeing eye. Honchkrow covers him with the ragged blanket, and Gyarados continues its solemn vigil.

"Dammit!" Jupiter hisses under her breath. _I was too late._ She slams the bowl down. She's no stomach for food, even if her brain is indeed craving something warm and rich. "Look after him," she says to the melancholy Pokemon. Jupiter brushes past the gaping audience on her way out of that accursed room.

Rain continues to batter the Old Chateau. Something moves in the upper floor—sounds that resemble suspicious footsteps.

Grunts sit up at her presence. She assures them that everything's fine, that she's fine, that despite the world having fallen apart around them, there's still a silver lining in those bleeding skies.

Jupiter almost trips on her way down their stairs. Then she stops. There, hunched over on the worn sofa, is the person who destroyed all that he had, yet at the same time also saved all he that was. Her golden hair is an iron curtain, protecting her from the hostile mansion and its dubious residents.

"Whatcha' got there?"

Cynthia gasps. The poster slips from her fingers and flutters to the floor, where Jupiter slowly bends to pick it up.

_Of course._ Jupiter had memorized that entire page, but it still makes her blood boil every time she looks at it. Makes her heart bleed with rage. That face… those eyes… it wounded her then, and it still wounds her now.

"'The Enemy of Sinnoh,'" she announces to the room, all while holding the Champion's gaze. "'Responsible for the destruction of time in the world. If seen, alert Sinnoh Police or INTERPOL immediately.'" Her lips wilt into a snarl. "Congratulations, oh Mighty Hero. He really _does_ look like a criminal. Even I'd call the police if I see this freak walking around my city."

Cynthia hides behind her hands. She former tenses when the Galactic Commander plops down to the empty seat.

"I can care less about trees." Jupiter crumbles that _thing_ into a ball and feeds it to Skuntank's Flamethrower. "Tell your bumbling detective that I'm sorry for wasting his precious ink."

Cynthia might've said something. She just shakes her head and looks away.

Jupiter purses her lips. "You act as though I'm about to slap you again." Cynthia flinches, earning a mirthless chuckle from the older woman. "But rest assured that I'm not in the mood. I have bigger things to worry about."

Rain plinks against the tiled roofs. Muffled voices sound from the heart of the mansion, mingling with the creaks and groans of the walls. Gastly gather around the humans, but Skuntank bares its fangs and Tangrowth knocks aside the noisy guests with its vines.

"So why _is_ he so fascinated with you?"

Cynthia jolts. Jupiter frowns. "I've noticed it too, you know. I know how he acts around you." The latter purses her lips. "And what was that all about? Those things he said…? To _you,_ of all people?"

Jupiter exhales through gritted teeth. "You have a lot of explaining to do, Miss Sinnoh Champion. The way you act around each other… You two aren't just enemies… are you?"

Cynthia had gone very, very still. One slight breath can sever the protruding tendons in her neck. Even a slight pass of the hand will break those shoulder blades off, squarely and cleanly.

_This isn't right. Aren't you supposed to be the figurehead of Sinnoh? The confident, powerful Hero in the public eye… And yet, now that I've seen you in person… You're nothing more than a scared little girl._

 _**BOOM!**_ Some Grunts cower from the loudest thunderclap yet. White shrouds the mansion in white for one…two…three seconds before color reverts back to the world.

Then Jupiter sighs. "Forget it." And Cynthia physically relaxes. "He _was_ just another one of your countless fans, believe it or not. And he's delirious from his fever. Tch. After all this time, I still don't know what goes on in his head."

Silence once again fills the air. Cynthia's fidgeting with her furry coat. Grunts pass the two women uncertain looks. Time marches outside the windows in the steady cadence of raindrops.

Jupiter hugs her knees closer. "It was raining like this when I first met him."

Cynthia raises her head. "It was raining like this when you asked me when I thought of him," Jupiter continues, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "I mean; All I can do is wait. It's all in the hands of fate now."

Cynthia is still staring with open ears. The Grunts are also listening. Skuntank leaps into her laps. Tangrowth tilts its voluminous hair, and Jupiter chuckles, despite herself.

"I was just sitting there," she begins, staring at the back of her hand. At the uniform color of skin without any ring nor obstacle to mar it. "It was dark… dreary. It's always raining at the Crossroads of Sinnoh.

"And that's when the sun came out."

* * *

_"Don't cry, Miss."_

_I immediately hid my face. Through the cracks in my fingers, I saw a boy—no older than his early tweens, just staring at me with sharp, azure eyes._

_"Go home, kid," I growled, trying to sound much like an adult as possible._

_Another girl ran up to him. Maybe a few years younger. Her fiery red hair matched her polka-dotted dress, which she seemed to enjoy showing off. "Hey, another one!" Said as though it's the most normal thing to say. "Gee, Boss really knows how to find people, huh, Saturn?"_

_"Shh," the boy hissed. "Mars, you're being insensitive again. She can hear us!"_

_I glared at the two whispering children. Siblings? But they looked nothing alike. Siblings from another mother? That very thought made me want to vomit. Wait, what were their names? Mars? Saturn? Like the planets? And who was this "Boss" they were speaking of?_

_"Here." I dug through my pockets to produce a wet wad of cash. "Take it. Leave me alone."_

_The children gaped at the money as though it was more precious than life. I really am a horrible person._

_No wonder I got left behind--_

_"What is happening here?"_

_I thought it was the wind that had spoken. But no, it's definitely uttered from a mouth, and the source of that sound was coming in my direction._

_And something flickered in the darkening clouds at the moment our gazes connected._

_The children ran to his side. He held the sky-splotched umbrella over them, exposing his back to the unforgiving rain. "Mars, Saturn," he said in that cold monotone. Like a machine's. "Why did you suddenly run off? Weather conditions are currently hazardous."_

_"Boss!" The boy with the cat-eared tugged his sleeve. "Boss, she's crying!"_

_The man looked at me. I stared back at him until my eyes burned again, and I had to rub the running mascara from my face. "Are they yours?" I grunted._

_His face darkened. He opened his mouth to reply, but the girl (accidentally) smacked his elbow, and what words would've been uttered was released as a hiss of pain instead._

_I examined him again. There's just something about this… this kid? This young man? "How old are you?" I asked. "Why are you wandering around in the streets when it's pissing rain?"_

_A frown answered my question. "I can be asking you the same thing, ma'am." That tilt of the head, as if he's prying into my deepest thoughts. "Why are you sitting outside in the rain? Hypothermia is not a game. If you'd like, we can offer our umbrella on your way back."_

_He was staring at the ring. I hid that trembling hand behind my back and shot him a forced smile. "No thanks. Just… just take the money and leave me alone. I don't have any valuables on me either." That was a lie._

_Thunder shook the skies. A bolt of lightning washed his face in white. The air was crackling, and it's not from the storm._

_"She can come with us, Boss!" the girl yelled._

_The boy bobbed his head. "Yeah, yeah! Miss, if you have nowhere to go, you can crash at our place! We have a heater and everything!"_

_"My name is Saturn!" the boy said before the other one could say anything._

_"Mars!" The girl twirled in her polka-dotted dress. "And that's our boss, Mister Cyrus!"_

_"Are those really your names?" I said._

_"Yup! Boss gave them to us!"_

_I shot a sideways look at the frowning one. "'Boss?' You_ gave _them names?"_

_"I—"_

_"He sure did!" Mars bounced into my sight. "Mine means the Defender of Virtue and Honor! I'm his third-in-command!"_

_"I'm his second!" Saturn puffed out his chest. "We're going to create a better world!"_

_A better… world…? The "boss" wouldn't look at me. But he had no need to. I already knew what's going on here._

_"Okay." I stood up. The children's faces brightened. I smiled at them, ignoring the person whom they were latching so tightly to. "I'll come with you," I said as the wind picked up, scattering leaves across the flooded ground. "Where do you live… Cyrus?"_

_Cyrus stepped back. The children, thank Arceus, suspected nothing as they tugged him down the rain-ravaged streets. I kept my eyes on the back of his head, especially on his clenched hands._

_Just in case he pulled something._

_"Let's go home!" Mars was laughing. "Let's go home, Boss!"_

_Yes… let's go home, Cyrus… if that is your real name. Once we reached our designated target, then I'll have the physical evidence that I need to look into this case._

_I noted the payphone on the corner of the street. A surge of adrenaline shot up my spine. I shuddered, not from fear, but from the exhilarating rush of a habit that had failed to die. I might be associated anymore, but I could at least rescue these poor children from their cunning captor._

* * *

_At least they didn't live in the streets. But Arceus, this area belonged to the darker side of Hearthome—the face tucked away from the Contests, the Poffin House, the air of glamour and prestige that the city was known for._

_Finding their box of a house on a whim would've been impossible._

_I memorized the address on the door before heading in. A quick sweep located nothing out of place… almost disappointingly so. It's surprisingly warm, despite the crappy foundation of the building._

_The children ran barefoot all over the wooden floor, laughing and screeching like cultists. I turned around to see Cyrus silently picking up their shoes to put it away. Our gazes met, and he immediately dropped his head._

_Guilty as charged, eh, punk?_

_"Saturn, Mars," he said. "You'll get sick."_

_"Aye-aye, Boss!" Mars tugged a surprised Saturn to the bathroom. Once the children were out of sight, Cyrus crossed to the closet. He set aside two pairs of crisp, clean clothes._

_"Would this coat suffice, ma'am?" Oh. He's talking to me. I gave that old thing a glance._

_"Those are some nice clothes," I said flatly. He stiffened when I towered over him. "Looks just like new… and they're even patched up all nice and neat..." I tapped the precise threads on a small pair of pajamas. "Where'd you get the money to buy them, kid?" I said with deliberate harshness._

_You can hear the rain pounding through the thin walls of the house._

_"Mars and Saturn seem to enjoy your company, ma'am," he muttered to the floor. "It'll be a shame if you'd get sick."_

_Something about that made me hesitate, but I'm not falling for that. This was a very real crime, and I can't just turn a blind eye. I could at least be useful. I'll take the two of them in and raise them to be good members of society. I'll bring them back to—_

"Back to where?" _that detestable voice sneered._ "Back to the place you ran away from? Back to him? Are you going to swallow your pride and bow your head like the beaten dog that you are?"

_"FUCK OFF!" Then I realized where I was, and who was standing right next to me._

_And before I could say anything, Cyrus shot up and almost tripped on his way to the kitchen. I stared at his retreating back. Then I looked down, and I saw the bomber jacket that's folded neatly on the floor. The one with a Magikarp and a fishing hat._

_"I'm sorry." That voice was barely a whisper, but I heard it like the shot heard around the world. It was such a jarring thing that my ears rung well after those words were uttered._

_N-No. No, don't fall for his tricks, woman. You've dealt with hardier types. You can break him easily._

_The children were laughing in the bathroom. Cyrus was still in the kitchen, and I had no intention of checking up on him. I came here for a mission, not to play house. I have yet to find the evidence, and when I do, I'll bring this silly charade to an end._

_Something hard bit my toe. "Damn lego!" I hissed, but upon lifting my feet, I realized that it wasn't a damn building block. It was a gear—a worn, obviously-used gear. There's also battered box in the corner of the room, hidden behind the rolled futons. Oh! That's it!_

_But it wasn't. "What the…" On top of the pile of junk was a robot. I picked it up and held it to the light. It's small, compact… gleaming like a high-quality toy. Upon touch, the robot whirled to life. Its eyes sparked with an energetic blue, and it waved a timid hand._

_I almost dropped it. Almost, but I didn't. Doing so would be a crime. This wasn't just something you could waltz in and buy at the nearest toy retailer…_

_"This is amazing," I muttered. "How much is this? Where's the price tag?"_

_Something heavy was pressing against my back. A pair of eyes. I turned, and sure enough, it was him. He had stepped out the kitchen, his hand raised slightly, as if he's uttering a silent warning; but when he caught my gaze, he flinched and vanished behind the wall once more._

_What the hell was that?_

* * *

_The day passed like the blink of an eye. I failed to procure evidence. I failed to note any distinguishing behaviors from the children._

_So damn me if I knew why was laying on the futon as the moon was high and full in the sky, its shimmering light cutting through drizzling rain. On my left and right, Mars and Saturn were snoring the night away._

_"It'll all be over soon, okay?" I whispered as my brain finally succumbed to exhaustion._

* * *

_I remembered having a peculiar dream that night. When the sun was just a flickering star in the sky, when the clouds were thin wisps of pink, I saw a pair of feet float across the floor. A sterile breeze tickled my nose. I cranked open an eye to see a tall, lanky figure… a red scarf billowing in the cold winter gale… and then the door clicking close with a gentle snap._

* * *

_The bright morning light pounded down my face. I looked at the clock. Damn, old habits were hard to break, even when time had softened their edges._

_Mars and Saturn were still knocked out, those angels. I laughed softly, pulling the blankets over their rising chests, and I stood. Oh. Cyrus was nowhere to be seen. Ah, so began a good day, with the sun peeking through the white clouds and the opportunity just ripe for justice to be served._

_I shed that bomber jacket (it still had the stench of fish) and cast that aside. Now where would he hide my clothes? Think woman, where would a cri—_

_My foot snagged on something. There it was! I grabbed the fabric and swept it. Nothing fell out. Nothing turned up either. Nothing, except… except that they were dry, and they carried the gentle scent of morning pine._

_That's when I noticed two other pairs of clothes on the floor: a grey tee and a red dress, folded neatly like those displays at the department stores._

_Saturn woke up when I was inspecting the kitchen. There's a small pot on the stove, and upon lifting the lid, white rice gruel stared back at me, still warm to the touch._

_"Where's Boss?" the boy mumbled._

_Mars shot up to her feet. "Working, I bet. Yeah, his toolbox is gone!"_

_I poked my head out from the kitchen. The children's sleepy faces broke into radiant grins, and I couldn't help but smile back. "Good morning you two," I hummed. "Mars, is it? You said that Cyrus went to work?"_

_"Yup! He usually leaves early. He works at some big-name company. I think he's a… an eletricitian?"_

_I cast a glance at the stacks of newspapers, of the old battered box hidden behind them. "An electrician, you mean?"_

_Saturn bobbed his head. "Yup! He fixes stuff." Then he noticed the clothes. "Strange…" he murmured. "Boss usually doesn't leave our best outfits outside like this…"_

_"Maybe he forgot." Mars gasped. "Ooh, look, Saturn! He fixed my dress! Look, look!"_

_"Ugh, he fixes your dress three times a week! You keep ripping it, Mars! You're always too reckless! You might hurt yourself!"_

_"But he doesn't mind! He always fixes it!"_

_"He does mind, but he just doesn't say it! You know how he is!" A pause. "Wait, Miss. What are you doing?"_

_Those little eyes bore into my back. "Don't mind me," I hummed as I rummaged through his things. "Just doing a little cleaning."_

_"Aw, thanks, Miss!" Mars chirped. "Boss really appreciates it. He's always busy, so he can be real absent-minded sometimes, that scatter-brain."_

_I looked over my shoulder to the grinning little girl. She kept on beaming. I cleared my throat. "Um… yes. Hey, how would you two like a tour of Hearthome City? I'll show you around!"_

_Mars's mouth widened to an "o." "Oooh, yeah! I wanna see the big city! I wanna see the lights and the glamour!"_

_I patted her head. "That's great, Mars! Why don't you and Saturn change, and we'll get going?"_

_"Okay! I'll just eat a little—"_

_"Oh, no worries about that! I know a lovely little place where we can have breakfast! They have delicious eggs!"_

_Saturn wasn't convinced. "I don’t know, Miss," he muttered, shifting his feet. "I think we should wait for Boss to get back—"_

_"No need!" Shoot, keep it casual, woman! "I'll leave him a note. Hurry, so we won't miss breakfast!"_

_Saturn remained rooted to his spot. "B-But—"_

_"Let's go, Saturn!" Mars pushed him aside. "We're going to eat good food today! Stop dragging your feet and let's go!"_

* * *

_Mars devoured her breakfast. Why, she even asked for thirds, and I was more than happy to oblige. It's not like I'll be spending money any time soon… Saturn, though, was quiet throughout the morning. He cleaned his plate, but never opened his mouth._

_I learned a bit more about the children as I showed them around Hearthome. Apparently Mars had had another life before Cyrus took her. She boasted about her dubious family: that elusive man that was her father, the enigmatic red-haired woman that was her mother, her ill-tempered older brother, and their spoiled family pet._

_But she never told me her true name, no matter how much I pried._

_I got nothing from Saturn, other than the fact that Cyrus made the sun come out with a flick of his wings. Poor kid._

_As I wiped Mars's crumb-stained face, I felt a pair of sharp eyes on my back. Saturn immediately ducked away, but not before I heard those words under his breath._

_"You didn't leave a note for him."_

* * *

_After lunch, we continued our trek around the Crossroads of Sinnoh. We passed that glistening cathedral, and after a quick mulling it through, I waved them inside._

_"That's pretty," Mars whispered, pointing to the glass windows. Even the sullen Saturn raised his head._

_I gestured them to an unoccupied pew. "That's Arceus." Slow organ dirge dragged in thick air of incense. "The Mythical Alpha Pokemon… the creator of all existence, at least, according to—"_

_"The myths." I whipped my head to the boy who'd just spoken. "Arceus, the Original One. From its birth came the Guardian of Time and Space… Dialga and Palkia. That's Dialga right there. Legends have it that it lives in a hidden land, a land beyond the seas and skies."_

_"And from Dialga and Palkia, the Lake Guardians came to be." Mars glided my hands to the smaller mural. "Azelf, Guardian of Willpower. Uxie, Guardian of Knowledge… and there's my favorite: Mesprit, the Guardian of Emotion. All said to dwell within hidden lakes."_

_I gaped at the children. Mars smiled back. Saturn merely bit his lip. "How…" I didn't need to finish that, for I knew. I already knew my answer as the church bells chimed in the distance, signaling the arrival of the upcoming hour._

* * *

_I took them to the Poffin House, Amity Square, the usual tourist places around Hearthome. The weather was decent, so we walked a good chunk around the city without the rain spoiling our parade._

_They wanted to see the Museum—Mars vocalized it, and Saturn silently trudged along. From my experience, I'd expected them to run straight to the Pokemon exhibit. It just never crossed my mind that they'd run past the petting area to the Space Station, an old but functioning display that’s never been upgraded since forever._

_"Ooh!" I grabbed Mars before she could climb over the railing. The girl pointed to the plastic model overhead—the oversized replica of the Solar System, complete with tinny, sparking stars._

_"Look, Saturn!" Mars cried. "That's me! And that's you!" Her finger hovered over the two twinkling planets. "Mercury, Venus, Mars! Neptune, Saturn, Uranus!"_

_"Mars, that's Jupiter, not Venus. And you got the order wrong. Jupiter is the fifth largest planet from the sun, and the largest in the solar system! There it is, the one with the Great Red Spot."_

_Some passerby clapped at this glowing little boy. It's the first time in a while that I've seen Saturn smile, and I felt my own lips twitching as well._

_"I like Jupiter," Mars hummed, dangling her little feet in the air. "I like Mars and Saturn too."_

_I stared at the red-dotted planet. "Is there a planet you don't like, Mars?"_

_"Pluto." She made a face. "Because it's not part of our solar system." She then looked to the biggest, brightest star—the center of our universe. Saturn followed her gaze. It's just a ball of plastic, but it brimmed with warm light. But right now, it's the brightest thing that I've ever seen._

_It's just the sun. I've seen it for a million times. But why did it suddenly feel so… different?_

* * *

_The skies were darkening as we walked down a path of puddles. Mars hopped about, her reflection shimmering in the dimly-flickering lampposts. I held their hands, my feet unconsciously maneuvering down my old patrol route: looping around the old Library, the underfunded clinic, that two-story condo with crawling ivy--_

_"Kids," I grunted. "Where do you live again?" They looked at each other. "No," I said to their answer. "Not there. Your real home."_

_Again, that damned address._

_Whatever. I'll find it myself. We're already here anyway. Old habits really do die hard. I smirked and ushered the children inside the brightly-lit station of peeling green walls._

_The receptionist glanced up from her newspaper—and gasped. "O-Oh! It's you! Damn, I haven't seen you in a while! You finally thinking of coming back, Ja—"_

_"HEY! Good to see you TOO!" Note to self: work on being normal, damn it. "Is Jenny still here?"_

_"Um… yeah. She's in the back, still doing paperwork." The receptionist leaned over. "Oooh, and who are these cute angels?"_

_Mars beamed. "Hello ma'am! I like you!"_

_That gave me an idea. I patted their heads and said sweetly, "This nice lady's going to play with you for a second, okay?" I flashed a look to the flustered woman. "I'll be right back, kids!"_

_"Okay!" Mars grinned. Saturn just stared at me. I waved and hurried to the back of that station, almost tripping over the rug and eating carpet._

* * *

_Jenny was still at her desk. Nothing's changed from back then; except that the broken office chair had been used as an overworked coat hanger. "Oh!" Her eyes brightened once I approached. "I haven't seen you since your big day! How are you, Jane?"_

_"I'm fine." I hope my makeup's still intact. "Hey, can you do me a solid? I need you to look up someone for me."_

_"Sure. I did owe you for covering my back." She turned to the computer. "So are you a PI now?"_

_"Focus, Jenny."_

_"O-Okay. Boss." I frowned. She flushed and grabber her clunky mouse. "Um… so. Go on."_

_"Can you look up 'Mars?' And 'Saturn' too, while you're at it. Yes, like the planets," I snapped when she gave me a look._

Clack clack. _"Nothing," she muttered. "People-wise, I mean. I crossed birth certificates, and it comes up rien." She glanced over her shoulder, watching me with shielded eyes._

_Of course. I bit my lip. Of course there was no one by that name. So who the hell—Ah. I leaned closer. "Look up 'Cyrus.'"_

_"'Cyrus.'" Jenny's tone was dipping. "Mars. Saturn. And now Cyrus." I raised an eyebrow. She instantly returned to work, her fingers drumming on the thick, clunky keys. Then something popped up._

_"That's it!" We're one of the few people still in the station, so my voice carried further than it needed to. Damn the curvature of the ceiling. I snuck a glance at the occupied receptionist before returning my attention to the flickering monitor light._

_Jenny squinted at the page. "Let's see… Arceus, you think he could lighten up a bit—"_

_"He's just a kid?!" Jenny winced from my exclamation. "He's that young? But I thought…" I'm well aware of her incredulous stare, but I'm too invested in this case to give a damn. I'm dissecting his information, my attention glued to the screen…_

_"The city bathed in sunlight," I murmured after a silence. "He's not a Hearthome resident… but there's the documentation of his lease, dating back two years prior…"_

_Shit, and the address checked out too._

_"He moved around a lot." Jenny's eyes occasionally flickered to me. "Been all over Sinnoh, even to that snowy city all the way up north. Took jobs here and there… yet there's no license under his name. Last record of him was in that little town in the west… the one next to Eterna Forest."_

_We exchanged looks. I pulled the document that I've confiscated from his place. "Jenny. Is this real?"_

_Jenny pursed her lips, but she took it nevertheless and held it up to the light. "Yup. Been in a couple of forgery cases myself, so this one is the real deal indeed. If you turn it like this—see the seal? Place has the lowest acceptance rate in Sinnoh—abysmally low, in fact. And that's indeed the Dean's signature... handwritten too." She squinted at the paper. "Arceus, and it's Summa Cum Laude? Jane, are you tracking a runaway doctoral genius or what?!"_

_I just stared at her. She gaped back._

_Just who the hell was this kid?!!_

_Jenny scrolled down a bit more. "Found his current workplace. Maybe you can contact them instead? I can also look into the company—Jane? Jane, what's wrong?" Her hand sliced across my face. I hissed a colorful string of curses, but she only raised an eyebrow. "Jane?" Her voice was unnecessarily warm. "What's wrong? Are you feeling ill?"_

_"I'm fine. Thanks, Jenny." I patted her shoulder to the best that my trembling hands could allow. "Thanks for everything. See ya!"_

_"W-Wait, Jane—"_

_I'm already barreling out the door. On my way out, I grabbed the children, bid a speedy farewell to the surprised receptionist, and tore down the unfamiliar streets of the city that I've come to know all my life._

_I didn't hear their cries. All I heard was the pounding in my head and the irregular cadence of my heart. Why did the kid have to work_ there, _of all places…?_

* * *

_The spirit had left me well before I'm drifting aimlessly down the streets. As the full moon shimmered in the sky, the only thing keeping me upright was Mars's and Saturn's grips. I let them guide me like a Driftloon in the wind._

_Mars was looking around. "Is this the right way, Saturn?"_

_"Yup. See the payphone? We're almost there."_

_"Great, because I am_ so _hungry that I could even eat Pokemon food!" We rounded a bend, and there was the seedy, unlit part of Hearthome that I've known for just one day. It felt like an eternity ago._

_"Mars! Saturn!" I immediately reached for my holster, only to realize that there was no holster and that I was a complete and utter fool._

_"Hey, it's the Tour Guy's mom!" Mars waved to the elderly woman who'd just spoken. "Good evening!" Saturn shyly waved back._

_"Always good to see you two!" The old woman's smile was warm and genuine. "Oh, Cyrus was looking for you earlier. I was a bit worried, but now I see that you're both safe and sound!"_

_A fist punched my stomach. Saturn looked at Mars. "Really? W-What did he say?"_

_The old woman rubbed her chins. "Well… after he came back from work, he asked me if I'd seen you two leave with this young gal." She smiled at me. I was too petrified to even notice the emotion on my face. "I was replanting my berries, so I did see you three leave, as I've told him. But he didn't ask me where you went. He just stared at the ground, thanked me, and went home."_

_Oh Arceus…_

_"Boss is home!" Mars yelled, tugging my hand. "Boss is home! He's home!"_

_"Thanks, ma'am!" Saturn gave a slight bow. The old woman laughed and bid them good night. Then he and Mars tore down the street with me fumbling behind them._

* * *

_We've reached the address. The curtains were thin enough to see a ball of light within an inky darkness. Mars was pounding on the door. The knob turned, I prepared myself for the worst—_

_"A Sneasel?" I muttered once its head poked out. "In this climate?" The Pokemon's eyes widened at the three of us. It beckoned us forward with a silent claw. A Golbat also peeked out, its unreadable gaze settling on my head. The dark wings of a Murkrow guided us through the chasm of darkness._

_The house was eerily quiet. Still. Clean, like the pages of a worn storybook._ Tick, tock. _Footsteps moved in cadence with that round clock on the wall. In the corner of the room was the desk lamp; below the desk lamp was the familiar head of blue. I crept up to his back, careful not to step on the landmine of gears, and peered over his shoulder._

_Complicated diagrams laid in his lap, blueprints of x, y, and z, dimensions well beyond the 3 rd. Legal pads scribbled wit handwritten notes that put printing to shame. In those calloused hands sat a metallic contraption—part of it anyway, its true function still unknown._

_I found myself drawn into his face. Even with the weak light, I noticed the sharpness of his features, the shy prominence of cheekbones pushing through his skin… the shadows under his eyes, exacerbated from light cast by the moon._

_"Grandfather…"_

_My heart stopped. The Pokemon rushed to him, but they don't touch, as if he'll shatter before their eyes if they did. His brows furrowed, and he shifted to his side, shifting away from the gentle moonlight._

_"…not you too…"_

_My hand hovered over his shoulder… and it just stayed there, frozen in place._

_Then the floor began to shake. The Pokemon scampered away. I barely had time to dive before a red cannonball tore through the heavy air like a ray of sunlight slicing through darkening clouds._

_"BOSS!" Mars impaled herself into his back with a loud thump! Something might've cracked in there._

_"MARS!" Saturn yelped._

_The oldest kid fumbled to his knees, wheezing and gasping like a dying Magikarp. When he finally raised his head… oh Arceus, my heart would never let me forget that._

_He saw me gaping at him. He flinched back, and he buries his face into his palms._

_"BOSS!" Mars launched into him again, effectively knocking him down to the floor. Saturn's hands were helplessly flying everywhere. Light suddenly returned to the world when a smirking Sneasel flipped the switch._

_"BOSS! Wake up, dummy!"_

_"Mars, you're too loud, idiot! Mars, don't—MARS, DON'T SLAP HIM!"_

_I pulled the energetic child away before she could truly break something. That gave him the chance to sit up, to scramble for his misplaced reason and come back to earth. And he did, when he rubbed his eyes until they almost bled. "M-Mars?" Barely audible. "Saturn? You… you came back?"_

_"Of course we did, Boss!" Saturn uttered a shaky laugh. "We always come back."_

_The oldest kid stared at the two beaming children. Then he shifted, and our gazes connected._

_"Cyrus," I said before I lost him again._

* * *

_The children were splashing around in the bathroom. I was sitting on some blankets that he'd laid out for me, that Magikarp jacket draped on my torso. It smelled like… like nostalgia._

_Cyrus looked up when I approached him in the kitchen, and he dropped his head just as fast. "I apologize, ma'am," he said to the cutting board. "If I had known any better, I would've made something for you to eat."_

_I noted the empty trash bin. The unplugged appliance and the sheer sparkle of the kitchen. "Your hands are trembling," I said. "Let me help."_

_"N-No. No. You're a guest, ma'am. I can do it." He's rapidly dicing the vegetables. The clanking of the knife almost drowned out his voice._

_I frowned. I then leaned in, just a bit, and his breathing stopped, just as I've predicted. "Cyrus."_

_"Y-Yes, ma'am?"_

_There's a lot of things I could've said to him. There's also a lot of things I shouldn't have said either._

_Cyrus hissed. He swiveled around, but not before I glimpsed the red blotch on his finger._

_"Cyrus—"_

_"It's nothing." He switched the knife to his other hand and was just as adept until I snatched it away and shot him a very pointed glare. A faint gasp choked in his throat. I grabbed his hand, and he flinched so violently as though I had hit him._

_"C-Cyrus." It took me a while to find my voice. "Cyrus, you're bleeding. Where do you put your bandages?"_

_He shook his head vehemently. "I'm fine." It's quite a deep cut. "It's just a scratch."_

_I dragged him away and made him sit with relatively little effort. I don't recall a first-aid kit while I went through his stuff earlier, but with a little help from Stunky and Tangela, I located the damn box and was now treating that kid's finger._

_Those eyes pressed on my head. My neck almost snapped, but I remained focused until I finished my task. No, wait. Is one band-aid enough? What about over there? Oh, and here too. Arceus, this one never fully healed. Hell, I'll just wrap it all just in case._

_"There." I settled back with a small smile. Cyrus stared at his newly bandaged hands. Just… stared at them with the same concentration as a child would give to a brand new toy. "Don't push yourself too hard. They'll reopen." It took some time, but he eventually picked his eyes off the floor._

_"Thank you." Two little words ushered in a burst of sunlight to the room. For a moment, the skies turned a clear, crystalline blue before reverting back to its star-speckled ocean._

_"N-No problem, kid." He frowned. I insisted on helping him prepare food, and after some much-needed coercion, he finally relented. I watched the knife dance in his hands. How those long fingers hovered over the cutlery. His movements calm, solid, almost robot-like. And yet…_

_Cyrus was staring at me. He'd realized that I'd been neglecting my own cutting board just to watch him scoop the scum off the soup. "Ma'am?"_

_Shit, there's hardly any fat in his cheeks. "How often do you eat, Cyrus?"_

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"How often do you go grocery-shopping? I can give you coupons—CYRUS, STOP!" He froze. "Watch how much salt you put in there!"_

_He blinked, perplexed as to why I'd even say such a statement. I scowled and tasted the soup. "Ugh. Cyrus, what is this? Canned food? Stop spacing out!"_

_"I-I'm sorry." He gave it a taste. His expression never changed; in fact, he looked even more confused. He moved aside to let me season the food before he could make it taste like the waters of Canalave City._

_Then dinner was done. It was only a matter of time before Mars and Saturn would join. "Sit down, Cyrus." I patted to the empty area. He shuffled forward, but remained a safe distance apart._

_"I don't understand."_

_Oh. He just spoke. I looked up. "Hmm? What are you talking about, Cyrus?"_

_Cyrus tilted his head. He's standing tall, his hands grasped behind his back. Those eyes bore into my very soul, as if he's extracting all my darkest, impure secrets with just a glare._

_"Don't you hate me?"_

_I almost dropped the bowl. That heart of mine was thrashing wildly against its ribcage. "What? W-Why would you even…"_

_He jutted his chin to the stacks of newspapers. "I don't recall placing them in chronological order, ma'am." Oh shit. "And I don't recall my coat ever being hung like that. The rubbish bin is not aligned with the angles of the floorboards."_

_Then he held out his hand._

_DAMMITSHITDAMMIT!! I shakily fished out his diploma. His face never changed as he glanced at it, but his eyes have frozen over with no hope of thawing. "D-Don't you have a safe place to put that?" I squeaked when he deposited that sheet back onto the newspaper pile without even passing it a second glance._

_"It's just a piece of paper. Its only purpose is to lend reliability to a job."_

"Why are you invalidating yourself?" _I wanted to say that. But out loud, I whispered, "You shouldn't treat your talents like trash. Cyrus. You're still young—you're not even twenty yet, but you've accomplished so much._

_"You make me proud, Cyrus. Have a little pride in yourself too."_

_Cyrus blinked. He blinked again, as if my words weren't registering. And judging from that look on his face, it never would. This young man… No. This boy. This little boy who just couldn't grasp the fact that I had complimented him. The same one who picked up my disdain for him within the first seconds of our encounter._

_He simply didn't know what expression to put on his mask, and it showed. I looked away before my lungs stopped working altogether. "I don't hate you," I said. "I... I admit that I did suspect you of… things when I saw the children. B-But I know now. I know—"_

_"—that I'm the one who tore them away from their families." His voice was low, barely a whisper, but I heard it crystal-clear. "You suspected me of kidnapping them: This twisted, manipulative freak who toyed with their emotions just so I could use them as leverage in whatever scheme I am plotting."_

_He delivered that proclamation without a break in that loathsome mask. Delivered it with all the conviction in the world, never once breaking eye contact. "I understand. Your judgement is superior in every way, ma'am. Go on. Do as you wish."_

_The loudest thing in the world was my ragged breathing, and even that was barely heard. It's as if I'm on the other side of the interrogation table. "B-But that's not it, is it?" He started at my voice. "All the children talk about is you. 'Boss' this, 'Mister Cyrus' that. They truly lov—"_

_"That's impossible." Something had cracked in that icy tone. Even his rigid posture had changed. But what was it? Apprehension? Anger? No… no, it was panic, and that emotion was bubbling through the glaring cracks in his mask._

_"They really do, Cyrus." I held his trembling gaze. "Saturn won't stop talking about you. Mars always finds a way to bring you into the conversation, no matter the topic."_

_He's shaking his head. Whatever flame had briefly ignited had snuffed out. "No." Back to his frosty monotone. "That's a ridiculous assumption, ma'am." Sounded more like a plea than a warning. "A baseless assumption provided on subjective grounds. I'm only using_ _them to further my goal. Our relationship is strictly a professional one, so there's no reason for them to build attachment to someone like me."_

_Instead of buckling from his glare, a newfound wave of anger shot up my brain. I returned a glare. "So was that why you willingly let me take them?"_

_Cyrus jerked his head away, but I saw the moment when the light died in his eyes. Jackpot. "Y-You clearly appreciated their company more than me, ma'am." I saw his expression without seeing his face. "If you could provide them with a better home, then by all means, take them with you. They require emotional support that I severely lack._

_"You and your husband are much more qualified than me--"_

_"SHUT UP!"_

_Cyrus froze. I quickly covered my mouth, but by then the damage had already been done, and no band-aid could fix that wound "Arceus no," I gasped. "No, I didn't mean that! Cyrus! Cyrus, listen to me!"_

_His back was pressed against the wall. I took a step forward—and his eyes immediately flicked to the nearest window. I felt sick. Dreadfully sick. Extreme nausea that flooded my tongue with its bitter taste._

_"I'm sorry."_

_"NO! No, Cyrus, I don't hate you! I don't!" The world was spinning. That indivisible noose sprang from that circular curse around my finger to latch around my neck. I almost choked on my own spit. Fire erupted from that very spot, coursing down my body, leaving all hope and reason a black, twisted mess._

_I'd sooner chop my hand off and bleed to death than endure this repressed storm of hurt. It's all this stupid ring's fault! Why the hell am I still keeping it?! It's brought nothing but pain and misery and—_

"But I was happy," _that familiar voice said, its timbre soft and foreign._ "He said I was special. He said that this ring was one-of-a-kind. It's his promise."

_"I don't need it!" I shouted to that phantom woman. "Let me take it off already! Fuck off and die!"_

"You're the one keeping me alive." _Some light was blinking in the distance. But right now, those familiar eyes settled on me and me alone._ "We can still go back. We can still salvage the past, and we can be happy once again."

_The light was growing brighter. That woman's voice was fading. Her face was fading. I squinted through the distortion to see that the darkness had given away to clear blue skies. And in the middle… was the sun._

_Then I'm back in that box of a house, back on the warmed floorboards, the smell of porridge wafting through the air. In front of me was not that pathetic woman, but that kid. That kid with his wide-eyed look and that silver ring in his palm._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I tried calling you, but you wouldn't respond. And you kept twisting the ring, so I thought… well, you'll damage your skin if you kept doing that, so I… I'm sorry. I never intended to steal---"_

_"No." I held my face in my hands until I deemed it acceptable to look up. To look into his face. No crushing gravity was holding me down. Why, I've never felt lighter in my whole life. "No. Get rid of it. I don't want to ever see it again."_

_"Are you sure? This ring is made from the highest—"_

_"Yes." I must look quite desperate now, huh? "Please. Please throw it away."_

_Cyrus understood. I watched him run across the room to that corner of newspapers. From his toolbox he produced a hammer, and with that hammer he shattered the bars of the cage into a million fragments._

_The bathroom door creaked open, and there was Saturn and Mars, just gaping at the strange scene before them. I couldn't reach my smile in time, but Mars fixed that with a grin. "Father also destroys stuff when he's fed up," she said as if it's perfectly normal to do so._

* * *

"I said that?"

All eyes turn to the frowning Galactic Commander on the stairs. She bounces down the steps and lands on the balls of her heels. "I just remembered coming out and seeing you two staring at us as if we'd caught you burying a body."

Jupiter chuckles nervously. "Well… that's not far from the truth. We _did_ bury someone, but it's a long-overdue burial."

Mars just cocks her head. Then the stairs creak, and everyone turns to see the other Galactic Commander coming down after his associate. "I always thought it odd how you suddenly ran off with us like that." Saturn raises an eyebrow. "I remembered you looking so panicked. I knew it was bad, but I never thought it was _that_ bad."

Mars pouts. "Why does everyone think that we were kidnapped by Master Cyrus? He let us go with him!"

Jupiter exchanges silent looks with the Grunts. "Well. Imagine two kids hanging around this pale, sickly-looking robot-like creature. It's a perfectly reasonable conclusion. Even Cyrus said so himself."

Cynthia straightens as the duo make their way towards her. Saturn catches her gaze, and they both tore away just as fast.

"How's Cyrus?" Cynthia mutters to the air.

"Sleeping." Mars's smile is weak. Rain is still falling down the flooded earth. The outside chill seeps into the mansion from its crumbling walls, mingling in with the pre-existing coldness of the haunted house.

Then B-2 gasps, effectively breaking the magical silence. "Wait. Wait a minute."

"What?" Jupiter straightens. "What is it?" The goofiness everyone had associated with B-2 is nowhere to be seen. That realization frightens her.

"We've been lied to all along…"

"What the fuc—"

"Saturn," Jupiter snaps. Then she scowls. "What the fuck do you mean by that, Grunt?" 

B-2 turns his grim face to his team. "Colleagues. Cyrus isn't who he says he is. He's been keeping vital information from us."

"B-2…" Mars's voice is low and menacing.

B-2 launches his bouncing ass into the air. "It's not 'Master Cyrus!' It's _'Doctor Cyrus!'_ Grunts! Open your eyes! I knew that our boss is amazing, but I never thought he was _that_ amazing! People, we have a doctor in the house!"

"I'm also a doctor," a Grunt mumbles, and B-2's smirk slips.

"I-I mean we have a wide plethora of doctors in the house! This is awesome! We have a cardiothoracic surgeon, a veterinarian, a dermatologist—"

"Don't forget lawyer." R-8 flashes her colleague a wink. B-2 turns bright red, but he coughs and waves that aside like it's just another compliment in the day.

Cynthia gapes. "You're a lawyer?!" She covers her mouth when the last world tumbled out. Jupiter snickers. B-2 just shrugs.

"Emphasis on 'was,' ma'am." Stated flatly and indifferently. "Nothing much. Just doin' my job… keeping the scales of Lady Themis from tipping one way or the other…"

"Wait!" a Grunt gasps. "I _thought_ your face looked familiar! You were the powerhouse of firms in Hearthome! You're—"

"ANYWAY!" B-2 clears his throat loudly and forcefully, thereby bringing an end to the conversation. "Cyrus, remember? Sleeping. Fever. Someone/something might be upstairs. No third floor. Haunted robot in basement."

A silence. Then R-8 scratches her ear. "I always thought you were an idiot, B-2," she mumbles with a soft laugh. Everyone is nodding—even Cynthia.

And B-2 laughs. He laughs until his sides split, and soon he's back to the comic relief person that everyone knew and loved. "That I am, R-8," he sighs. "I'm just an idiot who loves his job."

Cynthia seems to be mulling something around in her head. Jupiter tells her to spit it out already. The former braces herself.

"You know Officer Jenny?"

 _You thought I was just another worthless criminal ,eh, Hero of Sinnoh?_ But out loud, she says, "Of course I know Jenny. She was my partner. Same unit." Skuntank rubs its face against her knee. She bends to scratch its furry ears and Tangrowth's slimy head. "Rose to fame because of my Pokemon. They called me the 'Black-and-white Bruiser.'"

Cynthia has a very odd look on her face. A deep, pondering look. A changed look, as if she's seeing Jupiter in a whole new light… as if she's actually _seeing_ who these people before her were for the first time. There's no going back now. 

Then R-8 turns to the smirking Jupiter. "Commander, if I may. What happens next?"

"Yes," the crowd echoes. "What happens next?"

Jupiter's gaze flickers to Cynthia. "Well…" She moistens her lips. "I got to know him a little better, is all. And the rest is history."

* * *

_"Cyrus, your scarf is crooked."_

_"Cyrus, stop hiding in the kitchen and come sit with us."_

_"Dammit Cyrus! I told you to go to bed seven hours ago!"_

_Hell, I didn't know why I stayed, but I did. I ended up staying with these three kids in their pathetic excuse of a house._

_And yet, no one told me to leave._

_The children opened up much easier, especially Saturn, now that I wasn't trying to take him away from Cyrus. Mars was adorable, but damn me if I knew how she turned up this way. Whoever her real father was, he must be one absent fool._

_And then there's Cyrus._

_One day, I was watching him tinker in that corner until I finally spoke up. "So you build stuff, Cyrus?" He immediately threw the blanket on top of that battered old box, as if I'd caught him red-handed._

_"It's okay, Cyrus." I gave a reassuring smile that didn't register with him. "You're amazing, you know. Saturn told me that you built that robot for him. And you made that rocket ship for Mars. Hell, you even upgraded this dump of a place." There's a lot more that I wanted to say. But the implications were lost on him. He stared at me for the longest time before he lowered his gaze to the floor._

_"You don't make toys for yourself?" I pressed._

_He frowned. "No. I'm too old for toys. I just… put stuff in place."_

* * *

_Cyrus loved reading. Mars and Saturn told me one day, and I suggested we go to Hearthome's Olde Library—that quaint little building on the historic district, unmarked on popular maps._

_As expected, he was absolutely enthralled. His demeanor changed instantly, and I once again saw that shy little boy peeking from behind his adult self. I turned around for one second, and when I looked back, he was already perched on a ladder, heaving tomes upon tomes on his spindly arms. He was positively brimming with questions I had no answers for. Even the librarian soon knew his name, and he even offered him access to the archives._

_We had to drag Cyrus away by the end of the day. And when he's usually not at home nor work, the library's a good place to find him._

_Note to self: take the kids out more._

* * *

_That stack of newspapers was to replace the table, he'd told me. In case he needed to clean up spills._

_One night, while the children were fast asleep, I returned from a late shower to find him hunched over the floor, the small desk lamp shining upon a crisp pamphlet of news. "Cyrus," I hissed. He jolted. "What time is it? Because I think it's past your bedtime," I said before smartass could actually tell me what time it was._

_"I'm sorry, ma'am. Don't worry, I'll still make it priority to arrive at least twenty minutes early to work." His tired eyes were glued to the front page as he spoke. I followed his long finger as it traced over the text, his lips parting slightly in silent recital._

_I sighed. I joined him on the floor. The front page showed a grinning young woman with a large trophy._

_Huh. They're about the same age._

_Wait a minute. Oooooh. I see what's going on here. "She's pretty, isn't she?" I said with a barely-suppressed smirk. He didn't hear me the first time. I repeated it just loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear, and he just stared at me with that familiar vacant look._

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"She has a nice face, Cyrus. Nice skin. Takes good care of her hair." I emphasized those features. "Nice smile too. I'm pretty sure she has legions of fanboys under her command."_

_Cyrus tilted his head. "Of course she would have admirers. She's strong and courageous, and she always holds her head high. She didn't become the Champion of Sinnoh for nothing, ma'am."_

_There's a change in his tone. There's a leak of warmth in those wintry eyes. My lips were hurting from holding back that smirk. "Really? What if she's just doing all this for attention?"_

_"No," he snapped. I raised an eyebrow. "She worked hard to fulfill her dream. To be the youngest Champion in the history of Sinnoh… that mere feat would require strong patience and determination. You shouldn't take her hard work for granted."_

_"Sure, sure. You really care about her, huh?"_

_"I—" Then he froze, as if he'd made an irreversible mistake. His shoulders tensed, and he quickly dropped his head. "N-No. I-I just find her sheer willpower to be an endearing… It's truly fascinating, and-and she's made it so far, a-a-a-and…"_

_I waited. Cyrus exhaled deeply—a breath that rocked his entire body. "It would be a waste if all her efforts were to be in vain. Yes, that's all. A shame if all her hard work wasn't recognized."_

_Was he aware that his hands were trembling? I guess not._

_"She's lucky," I said softly. He twitched. "To be thought about in the hearts of millions." I laughed. "She's lucky to have you too, Cyrus. At least there's someone rooting for her in this small corner of the world."_

_Cyrus absorbed all that with an empty frown. Then he just shook his head and returned his attention to whatever he was tinkering with, all while his ears burned against the soft moonlight._

* * *

_I found myself more drawn to this mysterious kid as time marched on. Cyrus never talked much about himself; why, shoving a giant Snorlax out of the way was much easier that getting him to open his mouth. But when he did, it's always not stuff about him. I remembered asking him about his studies, and he launched into a one-sided dialogue about the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. He was honestly so open to my opinions about something that I could care less about. But he was insistent, so I gave him some facts, and he listened intently to whatever bullshit was sprouting from my mouth. Then he gently asked if I'd like any clarification to everything that I'd just said._

_Mars and Saturn enjoyed his stories. But I couldn’t believe that he had been reciting physics theories to bore those kids to sleep. So with a gently nudge, I convinced him to tell something else: his passion for Sinnoan myths._

_But I pressed, and I discovered that there were some topics just… shut up down. The silence would be so physically and mentally unnerving that I had to restructure my train of thought before the snowstorm could swallow it forever._

_"What are your parents like, Cyrus?" I asked him one day. "They must be really proud of you." From his records, I knew their names. They were intellectuals—the cream of the crop, the mightiest of the mighty. Their names were synonymous with power, uttered with both reverie and fear. I've even have the pleasure of shaking their hands in the Sinnoh Regional Conference once._

_I just don't remember them ever saying that they had a son._

_And he just… stopped. Life drained from his face. The blizzard picked up in the room, extinguishing all signs of heat and warmth. Fortunately, the children were goofing around in the bathroom to have noticed the upcoming Ice Age._

_I expected him to get up and walk away. I didn't expect him to inhale, didn't expect him to look me in the eye as he spoke._

_"My grandfather gave me my name."_

_I then remembered that I had lungs, and their purpose was to work. "O-Oh really? Um… Tell me more about your grandfather then, Cyrus."_

_And the ice thawed right away. Cyrus explained how his grandfather opened his interests into space and mythology. How the kid looked forward to going to Grandfather's house during the summer. "Grandfather"-- Cyrus put warm emphasis on that name "—made the best chicken soup and gateau. He knows how to cook, unlike me." Grandfather this, Grandfather that…_

_He was just like a child, his eyes lighting up at the mere mention of the kindly old man. That's the closest I'd ever gotten to Cyrus's past. As he gushed on about his grandfather, I also saw the darkness in his eyes, hidden under the film of light. A gaping sorrow that no words could heal._

_That part of me wanted to snag him into my arms, to assure this lost little boy that everything would be all right. But I knew that he knew that it wasn't, as he offered me a sad smile and a shake of the head when he heard my unspoken words._

* * *

_Then everything changed. On that day, I was showing Stunky and Tangela to the excited children when the door opened, a blustery gale slid into the house, and there was Cyrus, standing tall and stiff in the doorway._

_"There's something that you need to know about me, ma'am," he said before I could tell him that Mars and Saturn were capable of advanced tactical progression techniques._

_The children stared at me. I gave them both a small smile before standing up. "Um. Sure. What's up, kid?"_

_"I am not a child." His voice was cold. I frowned. Cyrus took a deep breath—and straightened._

_"The world of ours is imperfect. Pain and suffering arise as a result of our incomplete spirit… a spirit tainted by vacuous sentimentality from this thing called 'heart,' being naught but follies to cloud reason and judgement._

_"I seek to create a new world: a world freed of such restraints. I seek to create a place where pain is nonexistent, where conflict is but a memory, where suffering is but a noun. If I can rid these unnecessary emotions, then the human heart will become complete once more, and there will be a future when no one has to ever hurt again."_

_Silence. Ear-splitting, jaw-numbing silence. A stray gale sliced through the thin walls, slashing at the confines of my pounding heart._

_"What the fuck?"_

_Cyrus dropped his gaze. His shoulders were tensed. "You're free to leave anytime, Offi—ma'am. The phone booth is right on the turn of the block. I won't be going anywhere."_

_I gaped at Mars and Saturn. They're not surprised. Rather… they're calm and stern, just like adults. "I understand your sentiment towards me," Cyrus continued in that flat monotone. "But I've waited for too long. If I am to proceed with my goal, I must act posthaste before the opportunity could slip from my fingers again."_

_I finally found my voice. "B-But… what exactly are you talking about?"_

_Cyrus gave me a strained, bitter smile. "Firstly, I wish to gather public support. I need information. Resources. An ambition dies if left alone, but if carried on within the minds of others… that will allow the necessary means to move forward."_

_"I'm his second-in-command," Saturn said. Wait, was he always this tall? "And I'll help Mister Cyrus achieve his goal until the bitter end."_

_"I'm his third-in-command," Mars said without her usual child-like mirth. "Our mission is to see that Boss's wish comes true, no matter the cost."_

_I could only stare. What the hell do you even say to that?! Cyrus waited with that tilt of his head, his feet planted evenly apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He knew full well of my thoughts, as his expression resigned when I automatically reached for my belt…. and grabbed at air_.

" _You…" I hissed. "How long have you been planning this? This… this…"_

_Cyrus crossed to the newspaper pile and withdrew a clip of confidential-looking documents. He presented them to me with both hands. As I read his speeches, the disconnect between this reality and his grew until they're glaring at each other from the other end of the chasm. I read it again and again, this physical manifestation of sheer madness on paper._

_Eloquent. Succinct. Subtle, yet gravitating. This kid… this man meant business—big, big business. Such embittered, ambitious sentiment from someone who's not even in his twenties yet. But he knew exactly what he was doing… and if this cold, darkly charismatic young man was to ever reach his goal…_

_Cyrus was still waiting._

_Then I looked up. "You're crazy," I said to his face. "Have you been harboring this delusion since forever?? Can you even live up to such grandiose claims?!"_

_He gritted his teeth. Something flashed behind those dimly-lit eyes, but his mask firmly clicked into place. "Delusion, madness, be it whatever you call it. I stand firmly behind my decision. I do not believe in uttering empty promises."_

_His hands curled over his Poke ball when I stepped forward. "I'll see it that my dream becomes a reality." His voice was hard, but shaky. "I will see this to the end, no matter what becomes of me, no matter the fate that awaits me."_

_Somewhere in the near distance was the sound of an unwinding clock._ Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick.

_"You call yourself a leader when your hands are trembling like that?"_

_Cyrus stiffened. The children glared at me, but I marched in and slapped the kid in the back. He almost fell over, that sack of bones._

_"You might fool everyone with your tough act, but do you really have it all together?" I crossed my arms. "What about the people behind you? Mars and Saturn saw it. They saw you tremble. What will your supporters say if their leader showed weakness?"_

_Cyrus's mouth was open, and no words came out._

_I held up his speech. "Your writing is decent, kid"—It's fucking amazing who am I kidding "—but you need to work on posture. If you freeze up in front of thousands of people… then what's the point of even going public in the first place?"_

_Mars and Saturn were smirking amongst each other. Cyrus though, looked hopelessly and completely lost. I slapped his back again. "Let's try that one more time, Cyrus. But now I want you to look at me with the intent to kill. That's how I did it back at my old place, and that's the sole reason why I haven't been murdered yet."_

* * *

_Our first public appearance was at a sorry park on the outskirts of the main city. Well…_ park _was an understatement, as the place had lost much of its glory with all the recent renovations. Gentrification and all that. Now it's just an ugly slab of concrete with pathetic trees, a splash of grass surrounded by corroded pipes and forgotten construction equipment._

_Mars and Saturn were ecstatic. I managed to convince the boy to leave his wooden bat at home, that no one would attack his boss. Cyrus, though, was the smallest that I've ever seen him. He needed no notes, but at the sight of one measly gawking passerby and he would freeze up, his hands would start shaking like a damn earthquake._

_"Ignore them, Cyrus!" I yelled from a distance. "Look at me! Focus right here, between my eyes. Project your voice, kid! Let me hear you!"_

_It took a while for him to tune out the incredulous stares from both people and Pokemon. Although he broke his habit of burying his face into his palms when it overwhelmed him, he still couldn’t control his trembling. But it's Cyrus, so he compromised by keeping his hands behind his back, although he tended to squeeze them until they turned white and trembled once more. And since it's Cyrus, he was intent on exposing himself to the same torture, just to overcome his glaring weakness, despite it looking like it physically hurt him to do so._

* * *

_We moved to bigger spaces, slowly but surely. Cyrus had evolved into a strong, confident speaker. A natural leader with ample charisma to boot. He knew how to attract attention without making a spectacle of himself. Commanding, intimidating, kid acted like he had his shit together, and everyone who listened believed it._

_Soon I noticed familiar faces. Faces that followed us from the seedy edges of Hearthome to the ridges of its inner walls. Those faces would watch and listen, be it under rain or shine… They would watch him speak as the sun broke out from periodic rain spells with light divine._

_"Look at that butt!" Mars giggled on one particular speech, pointing to a snazzy-looking man in a suit. Saturn told her to shut up. I noticed that the man's been to every one of Cyrus's speeches. And right now he's waiting until everyone leaves so he can approach the speaker directly._

_Cyrus was shooting alarmed glances my way, his panic becoming more evident when that fancy man was in front of his face. I flashed him an endearing thumbs-up. Cyrus grimaced, but he forced himself to face the stranger regardless._

_"Excuse me."_

_I turned to see a spiffy-dressed woman with a large bonnet over her head. She bent down, revealing a noticeable mole under her eye. "Are you with him?" she asked softly._

_"Yes." Saturn straightened. "How can we help you today, ma'am?"_

_The woman cast her eyes over our group. Her gaze strayed on me, but whatever recognition she had disappeared when her lips spread to reveal a toothy smile._

_"I was there when he was still practicing," she said to me. "Look at how far he's gotten."_

_"Boss Cyrus is the best!" Mars beamed._

_The woman blinked. Her laugh, she hid behind a hand. "I see. 'Boss' Cyrus, eh? Has a nice ring to it." She smiled again. "Do you know where you'll go next? I'd like to lend you my support."_

_The sun had pushed all tell-tale signs of rain from the clouds. "I don't know," I said, shielding my eyes from the dazzling light. "We haven't really planned anything." Cyrus was still talking to that businessman. Something about game theory, stock prices, the general trend of the value of Poke._

_The woman shifted her gaze to the man that was bathed in sunlight. "Oh. Well, tell him that he's doing a great job. I'm rooting for him all the way." Then her eyes widened. "Oh yes… I never got your group's name."_

_"Our… group name…?" I looked at Mars and Saturn. They returned blank stares. "We had a group name?"_

* * *

_"We need a team name," Saturn declared one day over the dinner newspaper. "Also, we need new notebooks. I'm running out of space for people to write their contact info."_

_Cyrus looked up from his untouched bowl of porridge. "A team name?"_

_"Yup! Father's organization also had a team name." Mars reached over for the meat. "Everyone knows who he is. And he's well-known for the red letter, so I'm thinking that we should have a letter logo too."_

_Cyrus absorbed all this with a pensive frown. I gave a playful flick to his big ears. "They're right, kid," I said. "You're famous. You need something that people will remember you by."_

_He's rubbing his neck. "Remember me by...?"_

_Mars slammed her hand on the table, causing Saturn to jump and Cyrus's frown to deepen. "How about"—she took a deep breath—"'Rocket Warriors?' Defenders of space and justice!"_

_Cyrus blinked. "Space and justice…?"_

_Saturn wagged a finger in the air. "'Rocket' is so four generations ago, Mars. Listen to this, Boss: 'Space Cowboys.'"_

_I smirked. "I think that's already been taken, Saturn."_

_"'Spacey Power Rangers!'"_

_"No, Mars."_

_"'Defenders of a Galaxy Far, Far Away?'"_

_"Saturn, no."_

_Cyrus tilted his head as he listened. Oh. That look. That's the look whenever some complicated equation was unraveling in that big head of his._

_Mars snapped her fingers. "Team Rainbow Galaxy!"_

_"Ew, rainbows, Mars?" Saturn folded his arms. "I'm thinking: 'Galactic Gundam.' Something cool. Something grand and awesome…"_

_"Team Galactic."_

_Everyone turned to the young man who'd just spoken. I grabbed his sleeve before he could throw himself out the nearest window. "Cyrus," I said with an encouraging smile. "Don't be ashamed of your opinions. Tell me more about this… Galactic business."_

_Cyrus peered at us from behind the safety of his fingers. After he deemed it safe to continue, he raised his head. "Team Galactic. Our name will exemplify the breadth of our goal. Our aim is as grand as the cosmos… our mission vast like uncharted frontiers…"_

_"Just say that you think space is cool." I smirked, and his face flushed like the rising sun._

_"I like it!" Mars clapped her hands. "Hey, can I design the uniforms? I'm thinking: black and white, a touch of minimalism and modernity. And I'm thinking of logo as something like this… what do you think, Boss?"_

_"A 'G?' It's functional and practical." Cyrus nodded. "And… And I suppose matching uniforms will inspire a sense of solidarity within ranks. Your output, Saturn?"_

_"You took the words right out of my mouth, sir!"_

_Cyrus nodded again. "I see. And what do you think, ma'am?"_

_Something about that struck my heart. Then I remembered where I was, how far I've wedged myself into this odd little family… how much time had passed since that fateful day. This kid was talking to me as if I was…_

_"It's cute." It made sense for the sun to be in the center of the universe. It made sense for the planets to orbit the central star, to protect it from foreign threats._

_So what did that make me, an outsider to their solar system?_

* * *

_The skies were a bruised grey when we took Mars to the park. Despite her not being a child anymore, she still yearned to go. There's just something about her being able to open up others' hearts, to drag a shy Saturn to a preexisting friend group and dissolve the chains holding that clique together._

_I sat down besides Cyrus. His gaze was somewhere else to have noticed my presence. I followed his eyes, and my heart turned to a clump of coal._

_"I never understood the appeal of public play spaces," Cyrus muttered, a hand pressed against his chin. He'd skipped the gel today, so his hair fell against his eyes. He looked his age this way. "Mars truly is amazing. She's able to turn strangers into friends. Saturn is very fortunate to have her."_

_Oh Cyrus…_

_Mars and Saturn were waving at us. I waved back. Cyrus stared at them until I told him that this movement of the hand was a perfectly normal, human thing to do. I even showed him the steps, and as expected, he was a quick learner. The two brightened when he finally waved back._

_"You know what, Cyrus?" He looked at me. I laughed. "You look really nice when you smile. You should do it mo—"_

_"Oh! Isn't that Mr. President's ex?"_

_Color flashed before my eyes. I knew who they were before I even smelled them. It's too late to pretend that they had the wrong person._

_It's too late to run away again._

_"It is! That's you, isn't it, Jane?"_

_"FUCK OFF!"_

_The women exchanged nasty glares, their thick makeup crackling with each lift of the face. "We haven't seen you in a while." Voices dripping with cancer-causing saccharine. "Heard the news at work today… It must be terrible, being replaced by someone much younger and beautiful…"_

_"F-Fuck off, y-you b-b-bit…"_

_Something rustled in my face. "I got the invitation. We're both VIPs to his special day. Oh, and I don't see yours, Jane. Did you not get one?"_

_"What? You didn't? Oh, what a tragedy! I feel sorry for the President, having to live with this yapping bitch for years. She was holding him back." A glare in my direction. "Oh, and she had the nerve to cheat on him, after all the things that he'd given her. I can't believe she got in with Frankenstein—"_

_They shut up. I peeked through my fingers to see that billowing red cape. Up a bit more to see that familiar head of blue hair. That broad, thin back._

_"There is a thing called common courtesy… ma'am." His words slapped them across the face. Even the air had dropped several degrees. Thunder clapped in the heavens. "Ah, but alas. It seems that I've clearly set my expectations too high for the likes of you."_

_The women flinched. One recoiled back, her high heels scraping against the moist concrete. "W-What the h-hell's wrong with your face, freak?!" she hissed, but her own face was white and contorting. "She dug you up from the grave? Dumb bitch can't even—"_

_"You will look at me in the eye when you speak to me, do I make myself clear?" Cyrus loomed over them, his eyes flashing like daggers dipped in ice. They bit down on their tongues._

_"D-Do you have any idea who we are, f-freak?! We're the—"_

_"Reputation is nothing if character lacks all its redeeming qualities… if such a thing ever existed in the first place." A sneer. "You revel in your delusions of grandeur, and yet, I see your cosmetic application is just to hide your ugly selves. You disgust me."_

_The woman tripped over their feet and fell, ass-first onto the cold concrete. Cyrus took a step forward. They yelped and wiggled back until their backs hit a lamppost. "Apologize to her," Cyrus hissed with enough ice to cause a rampant blizzard. "Now."_

_"Y-Y-You t-thi-ink you can-n-n scare-e-e us, you freak of na—"_

_Cyrus tilted his chin, and two large, black wings ripped from his back, unfurling to cover the ambivalent sun. The women gaped at the Angel of Death… then their eyes rolled to the back of their heads, and they slumped to the ground with their miniskirts open and exposed._

_Cyrus never passed them a second glance. He recalled a snarling Honchkrow and approached my side once more. "Miss," he said softly. "Were you hurt?"_

_Instead of whatever I was supposed to feel, I didn't. Instead, I snapped my head up to the young man with all the fury in the world. "Am I hurt?! " I snapped. He jolted. "What do you mean, 'Are you hurt?!'"_

_Cyrus immediately dropped his head. "I-I'm sorry. I thought that… No, that was highly inappropriate of me. Did I… did I make you uncomfortable?"_

_"Why the fuck are you apologizing?!" He stiffened like I'd slapped him. I should've. "Cyrus, why didn't you defend yourself? They were insulting you! Grow some backbone, Cyrus! Stop pretending like nothing happened!!"_

_Cyrus was frowning. His hands were hidden behind his back, but they were_ trembling. _"Yes, I see that. But why are you upset over me? You were the target of their ire, ma'am. You had every right for an apology."_

_"Fucking Arceus, what's wrong with you, Cyrus? This isn't normal! They called you a freak! You didn't have to stand there and take it!"_

_"Nothing's wrong with me!" Something's off in his usually-composed voice. Something cracked in his normally impassive mask. "I knew full well what they called me. And? They're just bullies. Bullies feast upon the pain that they've inflicted on you, and if they see that it worked, then they'll just come back, again and again. No matter what you do, no matter how much you beg, they'll never leave you alone unless they get bored! This is not a matter of_ me _, ma'am! This is a matter of_ you, _and they're targeting_ you, _not me!" He whipped a trembling finger to that mess of bodies. "They should've apologized to you! They've hurt you without realizing the damage that_ _they've caused! The damage that you've continued to bear! It's not FAIR, miss! IT'S NOT FAIR AT ALL!"_

_I couldn’t look at him. A tear landed on my head._ Plick. Plock. _More tears fell down from the weeping skies_.

_"Cyrus…" What happened to you?_

_He turned away. His arms rose to his face. "Don't worry about me, ma'am. I… I can take care of myself. I know what's best for me, and I'll be okay. I'll be… okay…"_

Plick. Plick. _Droplets marched into a steady rain. The gawking park-goers hurriedly gathered their families home. Gathered them away from us._

_Two pairs of feet sloshed against the pavement. Mars peered into my face with those golden eyes of hers. Saturn saw the fallen women, but they weren't as important as the young man that had his back to the boy._

_I expected them to ask us. Instead, Mars just tugged my hand. "Come on," she said gently. "Let's go home. We'll get sick."_

_"Come on, Boss." Saturn hesitated before grabbing Cyrus's sleeve. The latter stiffened to the point of his back cracking, but he didn't argue. He simply nodded, his head dangling in the autumn rain._

_"Okay." I took a deep, stale breath. "Okay. Home sounds good. Let's go—"_

_"Jane?"_

_I almost missed that over the sound of the screams of my dying cells. My neck prickled again as that noose draped itself over my shoulders._

_"Jane!" Oh Arceus. He sounded the same. Just like back then. "Honey, there you are! Why did you suddenly leave like that? Thank Arceus you're okay!"_

_Cyrus began to move, but I gripped his wrist before he could throw himself away again. I lifted the wet hair from my eyes and made myself as tall as possible. "What the fuck do you want, bastard?" Thunder punctuated my words._

_"Honey, why are you so harsh?" That pleasant, well-mannered smile called to me like delicious poison. "Come under my umbrella. Let's go home, Jane."_

_I'm aware of Mars's and Saturn's incredulous stares, but I can't see them at the moment. "N-No," I gasped to the man who took everything away from me. "No, you already have another woman in your bed. You don't need me… you've never needed me…"_

_A layer chipped in his mask. But that smile returned with easy grace. "What are you talking about, Jane? I would never—"_

_"You know I don't buy lingerie."_

_**CRACK!!** Lightning flashed in the skies. He scrambled to recompose his mask, but the crack was there. The crack was growing, widening as rainwater poured into its seams. "I-It's just a misunderstanding—"_

_"Do you even hear yourself?" I shoved Cyrus aside. "Don't you have any shame? Do you even feel regret within your wretched hole of a heart?"_

_His gaze flashed to the two unconscious women in the corner. Then he readjusted his suit, and once again was the award-winning smile that made me fall for him in the first place. Only now, those sea-blown eyes were empty and hard._

_Disgusting._

_"I'm sorry, Jane. I really am. That's why I've been running around the city looking for you, so I can apologize!" Not a hair out of place on his voluminous head. "It wasn't working out between her and me. I've been treating you like a fool, Jane. Oh, I've been so blind! It's my fault! You deserved so much better than that! I was the luckiest man in the world when I had you, so please come back—"_

_And that bastard finally shut up when I shoved the pink-laced envelope into his beautiful face. "You're a filthy fucking liar," I growled. Luckily, tears could pass off as rain. I didn't tell him about that small, despicable cry of my heart. I didn't tell him that yes, I actually wanted to believe his words. I actually believed—wanted—to return to happier days. To throw away everything right now and return to the time when our futures were still bright._

_A low, rumbling voice snapped me back to reality. "She doesn’t need your compassion, you selfish fool! She doesn't need your lies! You will never be good enough for her!" The man gaped at the glowering Saturn. Then Mars came up and spat on his custom-made shoes._

_"Pretentious bastard," she hissed. "You make me sick. You and your empty promises, your words of hot air and gilded intent… It's people like you that make our world ugly and hateful! Scum like you should experience a world of pain!"_

_The man's jaw scraped against the ground. He staggered back, as if he'd been shot. "What the… children? Why are they with—" Then his eyes hardened. "Wait. I know you. You're the creepy, antisocial kid who's always hanging around the backup generator. You… you're…"_

_The blizzard froze his tongue. He cowered under Cyrus's killer glare… until a newfound rage ignited in his chiseled face. "What are you doing with my wife?! You lowlife!" he screeched in The young man didn't even blink at the flying spittle. "You were always after my success, huh? You, this nobody from nowhere, infiltrated my company just to sabotage me! Who the hell let you in?! Our screening process is—" He growled and shoved Cyrus with such force that something might've indeed broken in there. "You've kidnapped my wife, brainwashed her, just like you did with these two innocent kids!"_

_Cyrus never raised his hand, nor his voice. But those eyes had turned black and cold. Tremors rocked his shoulders, easily passed off for shivering._

_The bastard wasn't done yet. "You're_ done _, kid. I'm not going to let a freak like you out and about in society." He snapped open his phone, making sure the lid hit Cyrus in the face. "I’m good friends with all the lawyers this side of Mt. Coronet, punk, and I assure you: there's no such thing as 'lacking physical evidence--!"_

_"LEAVE MY DAD ALONE!" Saturn sunk his fangs into the man's wrist. The latter howled, and the phone dropped to the muddy ground. His face blackened at the mar on his skin, and he flung the boy aside like a rag doll._

_Cyrus was already there before any of us could react. He gingerly scooped the crying boy into his arms—and froze when he saw the gash on Saturn's chin._

_If looks could kill…_

_"Arceus no…" the man gasped. "No, I didn't mean to hurt him. L-Let's take you to the hospital—"_

**_THWACK!!_**

 **** _The sensation of rolling flesh against my palm had never felt so damn satisfying. I did it a second time, just for funsies, just to see red welts bursting through his flawless skin. That bastard stumbled, and I nonchalantly slapped him the third time so he'll fall over in the mud._

_"H-Honey?" he sputtered, reaching out those large, protective mitts. "Jane—"_

_"Is dead." Rain bombarded my tongue, but right now, it's a much needed blessing. "Whoever that poor woman is, she's dead." I grabbed his tie as lightning split the heavens. I leered into his face—into that chiseled chin, that minty smell of aftershave… that faint smudge of lipstick on his collar… the smell of foreign lips on his hot, sultry breath._

_"My name is Jupiter." I shoved him back to the mud. A heel on his crisp, clean shirt before he could get up. "And that's my family you're insulting_. _A better family than you'll ever be."_

_The storm had worsened, but I've never felt more alive. "I know I'm not the first woman you've hurt. And I certainly won't be the last. But know this, you pretentious, manipulative bastard: you must be crazy if you think I'll come crawling back to your pedicured feet."_

_I finally released my heel. He gasped a wretched breath, his face washed in a sickly hue of blue. He doubled over, clutching his heaving chest while I watched and laughed at this pathetic worm at my feet._

_"You'll rue the day that you've crossed paths with Team Galactic, scum." I crushed the remaining scraps of his phone, relishing in the cries of expensive broken glass. "I'm not scared of your little friends. We'll change the world, and you'll have no place in our future."_

_The man fumbled to run when mad splashed to his face, soaking his face, his hair, everything that made his attractive in the first place. The air was sizzling. Simmering. Volatile. Cyrus's face was not devoid of emotion… rather, it was ablaze with all the sentimentality that he'd once renounced._

_"Wasting your time and energy into meaningless, worthless illusions of indulgence." Every word was a knife to the back. I felt it. Even Saturn hid himself in Cyrus's chest, and Mars cowered behind his legs. "Your heart is weak. Incomplete. The most pathetic I've ever seen. Your spirit, sullied by your disgusting primitive desires, blinds you to the reality before you."_

_Cyrus's lips lifted to reveal sharp, glistening teeth, whitened even more by stark lightning. "I hate people like you the most. Always hurting those who can't defend themselves. Lulling others in with a safe sense of security… until you've crushed any sense of purpose they ever had. And it still isn't enough, is it?_

_"How dare you call yourself a leader when you're lacking in every component of what it means to be human. You are a mockery of the very values that your company preached. Pathetic. You're not even worth my time."_

_Cyrus never needed to repeat himself. That man scampered away without another glance. In his futile attempt to flee, he tripped over his shoes and smashed his face into the same lamppost with his other snakes._

_Cyrus turned away as if nothing had happened. He peered into Saturn's face. "Saturn. Look at me." The boy shook his head. "Saturn."_

_"I-I'm okay," was the muffled reply. "I'm fine…" That gash was quite deep. It must've hurt like hell with all the rainwater that's seeping in. And Cyrus knew. He clicked his teeth and also hoisted a dazed Mars into his arms. "We need to go. Come, Miss Jupiter."_

_"O-Okay—" Wait._

_What did he say?!_

_"City maintenance just isn't recognized enough for their work." Cyrus cast an unsavory glare in that direction. "Come now. We have much more pressing matters to attend to."_

* * *

_After ensuring that the kids weren't at risk for hypothermia, Cyrus busied himself with patching Saturn's wound. No one spoke as he worked—the atmosphere was thick as miasma in the foggiest of forests._

_Then I broke the silence. "I'm sorry."_

_Cyrus's eyes narrowed. "For what? You have nothing to apologize for."_

_"I cost you your job, Cyrus! And I dragged you into my personal affairs… and now he knows your face!" I buried my face into my hands. "I've caused you so much pain… I've endangered Saturn and Mars… Damn it, I should've never came here in the first place! Everything around me just falls apart! It happens every time! Every… every damn time…"_

_Something warm presses into my laps. Mars. A hand laid on my shoulder. Saturn._

_"Aren't we a team though?" Mars beamed._

_"We're a family." Saturn seemed proud of his starry band-aid, as he held his chin high and proud. "And family stick together."_

_I stared at the two grinning kids. Then I shifted my attention to the last one with his unreadable expression._

_"You…_ did _give yourself a name," Cyrus muttered into the gauze in his hands. "Whether that was a slip of the tongue…"_

_I shook my head. "You're not telling me to leave?"_

_"Don't leave," Mars and Saturn whispered._

_Cyrus was silent. "It's been… an experience having you on board with us, ma'am. I'm honored to have met such a strong and resilient person like you." His voice wavered ever so slightly. "Ultimately, it's your decision. Whatever that may be, know that we'll always be here if you do need an area of refuge."_

_Oh thank you, Cyrus. "I already have my answer." I smiled. Damn, it felt so good to smile. Just stop crying, and it'll be all good._

_Cyrus extended his hand. I accepted his invitation. That boy was cold to the touch, but right now, he was warm just like his name. I held his grip for a little longer—and pulled him inward into a hug._

_"Group hug!" Mars threw herself into the circle. Saturn also fought his way into the embrace._

_"Thank you, Cyrus," I muttered. "You have no idea… oh, thank you so, so much…"_

_Cyrus was stiff again. But he didn't flinch. He didn't recoil. Rather, he just sighed as I wet his shirt with my tears. It could've been a sigh of relief._

_"We got another planet!" Mars chirped. "Galactic's going global!"_

_"Now we'll be even stronger!" Saturn roared. "We'll stomp out all opposition in our path!"_

_Cyrus shifted under my arms. I heard the faintest of sounds resonating in his throat. Then he spoke, that monotone was nowhere to be heard. "Thank you, everyone. If you'll have me, then I won't let you down. Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter… thank you._

_"Now, there's much work to be done. May I ask for your assistance?"_

_"Yes, Boss!"_

* * *

"He turned in his keys after that. Cyrus had found a warehouse space in the next city. Before long, he'd purchased the property and expanded it to the Galactic Headquarters of today. Then he's investing in public places and building libraries, parks, clinics… Galactic's reputation was exploding. We've even managed to contact our old interest list in Hearthome."

"That's us." R-8 nudges B-2 on the head.

Cynthia tears her gaze away from her hands. "But where did he get all that money? Almost overnight…?"

Jupiter chuckles. "Well, he didn't steal it, if that's what you mean. He sold his prototype to some high-tech company in Sunyshore. His solar panel blueprints. I've seen him working on that forever, and for him to just hand it off like that…"

Cynthia is silent. Jupiter continues, "Mars made us the uniforms. She even sewed Cyrus's name on the inside of his vest, just in case he loses it."

"Never did." Mars laughs. "He's always wearing it."

Skuntank grazes her legs. Tangrowth pokes her knee. Jupiter bends to scratch their heads. "As Galactic got bigger, we realized that we needed to write down official rules. As his Commanders, we're in charge of different sections of enforcement. If it's really bad, we send troublemakers straight to the boss himself, although Cyrus does intervene if he deems it necessary.

"Boss got me a Glameow at Galactic's grand opening." Mars utters a tinkly little laugh. "And he got Saturn a Croagunk."

Jupiter nods. "Ah yes. The mud wouldn't wash off for days."

Saturn palms his Poke ball. "Thanks, Boss." He smiles to the grinning Toxicroak on the other side of the capsule walls.

A Grunt clears his throat. "Um… whatever happened to _him,_ Commander Jupiter?"

"Who? Oh." She waves a dismissive hand. "Jenny got concerned and launched a small investigation into his company. It launched into a full-scale investigation regarding some shady business deals, not to mention his previous scandals. Hell, it was like the Holidays, but earlier."

It's still raining. Cynthia's playing with her hair. Everyone knows that she wants to say something, but the words are stuck in her throat.

Then Jupiter freezes. Saturn frowns when she suddenly shoots up to her feet. Her face is white, her eyes wide and alert as if she'd heard a scream from a dimension far away. "Something isn't right," she mutters. Lighting plunges the mansion into white. "We have to go!"

The crowd creeps behind her as she kicks the door open.

**_BOOM!_** When color returns to her vision, she sees him. On the floor. His Pokemon run to the humans, tugging at their hands and clothes.

"Cyrus!" Jupiter rushes to hoist him to his knees. He stares at her with unseeing eyes. "Cyrus! How the hell did you fall—"

"It's so loud." Cyrus cracks his neck to the frosty windows. "The helicopters. The guns…"

"Boss!"

Cyrus whips his head to his Commanders. "Mars? Mars, where are you? Is Saturn and Jupiter with you?"

Some kind of panic is leaking into his pathetic excuse of a voice. _NO! THIS ISN'T HAPPENING!!_ Jupiter grabs his shoulders and forces those unfocused eyes to her face. "Cyrus! Cyrus, I'm right here! We're right—"

"Where's Crobat? They shot Crobat! They took Crobat away!" Crobat flutters to his face, yipping and crying his name. Its pleas fall on deaf ears.

"Cyrus!"

"No! No, go away! Leave me alone! I don't want to see her!" He's gripping at the back of his head with his good arm. His body shakes violently like a brittle leaf in a winter storm. Jupiter has to pry his hand away before he could rip at his stitches and reopen the wound.

"Cyrus, please!" Her voice is breaking. And she can't fix that. "Cyrus, it's okay! Listen to me! It's okay—"

"The lightning… It's so dark… It's so cold…"

Jupiter pulls him into her arms. _K-Keep strong, Jupiter. D-Don't show weakness. He needs you. They need you._

_Arceus, he's much too thin._

"Cyrus, I'm here. Jupiter's here." She flashes a glare to the crowd. They understand.

"Grandfather, where are you…?" He's stumbling in the sea of darkness. "Where is everyone…?"

"Boss!"

"Master Cyrus!"

"Doctor Cyrus!"

"Cyrus…"

"You should go," Jupiter hisses to the bearer of that voice. Mars and Saturn shift into blockade formation. Grunts slowly but effectively herd the protesting Champion down the hall and away from their boss.

He's shivering into her arms. Shivering as his body burns up, as his Pokemon flutter around the room, helpless and afraid.

"Shh, Cyrus. It-It's okay. L-Let me sing you a song, all right? So you can sleep. U-Um… _'Under the North Star, we'll see each other again. In the old l-lighthouse…"_

_Slow down, Jupiter. Take a deep breath. One… two…_

Cyrus suddenly goes still. _Oh shit no—_ But then he slowly lifts his head, and her heart shatters into a million pieces.

"Mesprit…?" Hope. A fleeing light of hope in those broken eyes. Desperation. "Mesprit, you're back! Where did you go? I was waiting—"

"CYRUS!" Was that her? Was that her screaming? But at this point, her ears are ringing too much to tell. "Cyrus, snap out of it! It's Jupiter! Your Commander!"

The kid squints at her. "Commander… Jupiter…?"

A watery grin breaks through the stormy mess on her face. Her fingers recoil at the bumps behind his bandages; her chest heaves upon contact with the trenches between his ribs.

"Jupiter…" His voice is slurred with cotton. A voice so painfully familiar. "Jupiter, you came back."

"O-Of course I did, you stupid, stupid boy. A-And look behind me, Cyrus."

"Boss…" his Commanders whisper.

"Master Cyrus…" his Grunts gasp.

"Doctor Cyrus," B-2 mumbles.

Cyrus's brows furrow. Then he looks down, and that's when he sees his Pokemon for the first time. "Oh." Relief flushes down his tired face. "Oh. You're all here. I thought… I thought that…"

His voice is fading. His spine quivers, and he slumps back into her bosom like a broken doll.

Jupiter continues to hold him well after he'd stopped moving. _Thank Arceus there's a pulse, albeit it being a faint one._ His chest is rising and falling… those patches of uneven breaths sending tremors down her quivering heart.

And she's singing. She finds herself singing to this poor, hurting child whose eyes reflected nothing but the darkness of self-disdain. She hums that familiar lullaby of times bygone, songs laced with happier traces of a simpler past. It's just the two of them in the room now, in this haunted mansion in the heart of the place where time stands still.

As she warms his broken body, she realizes something. This is the closest that she ever got to him, despite all the time that they've been together. The most intimate of interactions. As the rain flicks against shattered windows, as time marches in the world around them… it's a strange spell of peace. An illusory peace that won't last.

Because when he wakes up for real, she—and the remnants of his team—will have to face the consequences of their actions from that dark and stormy night.

Actions with terrible, terrible repercussions.


	28. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people return to the present. Is there such thing as a silver lining?

"Why do you keep coming?"

Garchomp's head snaps up. Honchkrow gnashes his beak. "You and your Trainer… Both so nosy. What is it that you really want?"

"Honchkrow, be quiet!" hisses the purple bat. Her fangs are bared. "Can't you shut your beak for two seconds?"

"Crobat…"

Weavile looks between the two of them. The cat clears his throat. Clears it twice and juts his chin to the person behind him. The Pokemon shut up right away. They stare into those unblinking eyes, matching silence with silence.

"THE RAIN HAD STOPPED," Gyarados rumbles from beyond the window. There's a noticeable hole in the glass for his voice to fall through.

Weavile passes a claw in front of Cyrus's face. No response. The human's looking at Weavile and seeing nothing.

"One minute he's here, and the next he's gone." Crobat drops from his shoulder to nest in his lap. Weavile makes room for her. "I’m glad he's awake. But his memories…"

"Are all over the place," Honchkrow finishes with a low growl. Crobat shoots him a glare. "He called me Murkrow, Crobat. He thinks that we're still back there."

_There._ That place nestled within golden sands of time. It might as well be buried by now. 

Weavile crosses his arms. "Hey. I've been meanin' ta ask, but what's going' on between you two and her Pokemon? Ya'll acted all strange when Garchomp said that she remembered."

Garchomp drops her head. "But what didja remember?" Weavile presses. Another face peeks out from behind the land dragon—the narrowed eyes of a weary Togekiss.

"It's nothing," Honchkrow snaps, and Togekiss shrinks back. "Just nonsense." He's aware of the tension in Crobat's eyes and does nothing to alleviate that.

"NO, WEAVILE IS RIGHT." Gyarados squints at the silent Garchomp. "YOU ARE HIDING SOMETHING FROM US, YOUR TEAM. GARCHOMP. WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO THESE TWO?"

"No—"

"Honchkrow." The crow grinds his beak against itself when Garchomp spoke. The latter turns to the sea serpent. "Yes, we've indeed met before."

"Ya mean when the kid brought'cha back to HQ?"

" _He_ brought you back to _Headquarters?"_ Togekiss whispers in disbelief. The human in question turns to her direction. She stiffens, but he's not doing anything but staring at dead air.

"The lad found your Trainer dying in the woods," Honchkrow states with deliberate harshness. "Of course we had to help her. Shame that she's not even willing to lift a finger for him."

"She brought him back," Crobat snaps. Honchkrow's eye twitches. "He stopped breathing entirely when he collapsed. I couldn't feel his _pulse,_ Krow… nothing at all." She holds his wavering gaze. He suppresses the urge to look away. "Krow, he actually _died._ If it wasn't for his team… if it wasn't for her… then… then how am I supposed to LIVE without HIM?!"

That words settles into the air like suffocating molasses. Honchkrow realizes that the bed is shaking—no, it's just him. Just him and his rambunctious heart. He quickly adverts his eyes with his fedora. Adverts it away from the heartbroken bat.

"Heeeeeeey…" A chill slides through the room, slicing the heavy air like knife through skin. "Heeeeeeeyyy…. Haaaallloooooo…."

Honchkrow brandishes a pulsating wing. "Don't even touch him, Ghost," he snarls.

"But whyyyyyy…?" Haunter tilts her head. "We'reeeeee frieeennnddssss…"

"We ain't friends with ya creepy blokes!" Weavile rushes to shield his Trainer. The human's brow furrows. "Scram! I know Shadow Claw ye ingrates!"

"Are yooooouuuu suuureee?" Haunter disappears. Gyarados growls, and that's when all heads turn to see the Ghost right beside Cyrus's head, the purple plume of miasma rustling his hair.

"LEAVE!" Gyarados opens his mouth—and quickly jerks back. _No, if he_ did _unleash Bite, then the window will break, and glass will splatter all over Cyrus._ Honchkrow almost falls over from relief when Gyarados clamps his jaw shut.

"Cyyruuuuussss…" To their shock, the human actually turns his head to the source of that voice. The edges of Haunter's mouth curl up to her eyes. "Cyruuuusss… can you seeee uuuussss…?"

"S-Stop saying his name!" Crobat gasps. "Wait. Wait is he… is he actually understanding you?!"

"Keeheeeeee…" Haunter sticks out her long tongue… and vanishes before Crobat can smack her with a Cross-Poison.

"DAMMIT!" The bat unleashes the Move on a stray cobweb instead. The silky threads perish under her wing. "Damn Ghosts! You think this is funny?!"

Honchkrow hesitates. He sighs, then moves to his friend with an upraised wing. Crobat is still fuming to notice that he'd slipped his wing over her body. She only gasps when she feels his warm, velvet-like down on her back. Then her wings slump, and she sniffles back a sob before sinking into his awkward embrace.

"Cyrus and Cynthia met as children." Garchomp's voice is gentle. Much too gentle, almost unrecognizably so. Togekiss's eyes widen. Weavile's jaw slacks, and the windows shake at the sound of Gyarados's deep inhale. "Sunyshore City. They met at the Beach Cave, back when those fancy black squares weren't blocking the skies.

"I was a Gible when I first met Zubat and Murkrow. Cynthia brought me along one day because her new friends had something to show her. I just never thought…"

"What's your point?" Honchkrow snarls, but the spirit had left his breath a long time ago. Where's your proof? This delusion you speak of never happened in the first place."

That's when Crobat raises her head. "Cynthia was part of that group. I never thought that she would defect… After all, aren't humans more comfortable with their own kind? I was just minding my business until… well, I never understood the appeal of hurling rocks as recreation." A glance to her Trainer. A small, timid smile as her wing brushes the hair from his eyes. "And yet, there are humans who would protect us… us, Pokemon that are just one in a million."

Crobat looks to Honchkrow, who shifts his weight to the other claw. "He found you outside the house, Krow. He fixed your wing, yet you didn't rejoin your flock. You stayed with us… and you even helped us ward the bullies away from Cynthia."

_"Why is this human helping me?"_ Honchkrow remembers wondering as the boy's fingers perform magic on his wing. He remembers those small, trembling hands as they carried him to the open skies. He remembers that timid, almost furtive smile as the bird tested his wing—and the crow remembered that gasp when he returned to the child's side.

_"Are you sure you want to stay with me?"_ the boy had asked after his failed attempts to rid the curious bird. _"They won't let me keep you… You wouldn't like it here."_ Eyes widened. _"Oh. Really? You really want to…"_ A nod. _"Okay. If you're sure, then I'll try my best to hide you. Until we find your flock, you can stay here with Zubat._

_"Ah, and what Pokemon are you? A Wingull, right?"_

_Sometimes it's frightening to think that so much time had passed in a blink of an eye. I remember it like it was just yesterday. Back when the lad still had a reason to smile._

Honchkrow chuckles to himself as he recalls how he'd slapped that brat for daring to mistake a proud crow for those mindless Wingull. His back is to his Trainer, so he failed to see that tilt of the head.

"Wait, wait." Togekiss and Weavile glare at each other. "You go first. No, you!"

That was resolved by Weavile raising his hand. "Wait, so… Wait, wait. But I thought ya were enemies!"

"We are." Togekiss casts a glance at Garchomp. "We are… right?"

"THAT'S HARD TO BELIEVE, CONSIDERING THE EXCHANGE AT CELESTIC TOWN." Garchomp's thick lips lift to reveal gleaming teeth. His eyes also stray on Cyrus, just briefly, until he looks away.

"I'm sorry," mumbles Garchomp. 

Those two words linger in the air. Cyrus stares at the land dragon. Something flashes in his eyes, that action unnoticed by the solemn Pokemon.

"I don't get it." Weavile plops down in Cyrus's laps. He plays with the thread-bare blanket. "I could _smell_ her hate for him. But it's been… different lately. I don't…" He shakes his head. "If… If ya _did_ know each other, then why didn't anyone say anythin'?"

"Because it wasn't important," Honchkrow mutters. "It's like it never happened, so all the more reason to believe that it never did."

Another silence, the din only broken by time's constant march. Garchomp steadies herself… and crosses to the doorway. Crosses the creaking floorboards to the bed with Togekiss shuffling in behind her.

"Cyrus?"

The human turns. Garchomp fights back a gasp and continues. "Cyrus. Remember me? Y-You knew me when I was still a Gible."

_Can he even understand you?_ Honchkrow peers into that pallid face. The answer's not so clear.

"I'm sorry," Garchomp says with all the sincerity in the world. "We're sorry. Please accept my apology in Cynthia's place. We never meant to leave you… to hurt you as we did… to forget the things that you still remembered. Please, Cyrus… don't give up on us."

Cyrus squints at the dragon. She lays a hesitant claw on his cast. His eyes never leave her face.

Then Weavile wordlessly holds up the marker. Garchomp looks to Crobat, who sighs. The former then looks to Honchkrow. Everyone's looking at Honchkrow.

"Do as you wish," he mutters, sliding his fedora down his eyes.

Togekiss watches as her friend leaves their own messages next to Cynthia's drawing of a sun and moon. She notes the shaky edges of Garchomp's writing but never points it out.

"Cyrus?" the Pokemon whisper when he holds his arm sling to the light. Those cloudy eyes seem to have registered something… _something_ about these messages written in permanent marker, _something_ about the present reality.

"Gib—"

"Chaw-haw-haw… What do you know? They're still here."

All action halts at the arrival of the towering Skuntank, followed by a solemn Tangrowth, a scowling Purugly, and an unamused Toxicroak.

"Skuntank?" Corbat mutters in a sleepy sort of way.

"Chaw-haw-haw." The skunk rakes her gaze over the dazed crowd. Those beady eyes soften upon sight of Cyrus. "Oh. Kid's awake. How are you, champ?"

"Meh-heh-heh… Not like he understands you anyway." Toxicroack taps his orange cheeks. "Give him some space, Chief."

"Why's everyone so sad? Oh, are the Gastly annoying you again?" Purugly cocks her head.

Weavile slaps himself to regain ground. "Y-Y-Yea. You c-can say that."

"Oh…" Tangrowth drags a hand through his hair. His very voluminous hair. "I, erm, tried to keep them at bay, but they seemed to be attracted to him somehow. Poor Cyrus…" His voice is soft, like rustling grass. "But, erm… Garchomp and Togekiss? Erm…"

"Time for you to scram," Skuntank finishes with a whish of her tail. "Your Trainer's about to head out. Unless you want to stay behind with us in this haunted mansion… We're not friendly company. Chaw-haw-haw…"

Togekiss takes a covert step back. "Heading out?" she squeaks. "Where?"

As if on cue, the light catches on something golden in the doorway. A face peeks out from under that curtain. 

_"Garchomp, Togekiss."_ Her voice doesn't match that of the Champion of Sinnoh's. Not at all _._ That's the voice of… _"We're going back."_

"Back?" Garchomp grunts. "Back to where? To your grandma?"

Cynthia doesn't hear that, of course. She lifts her eyes to the person on the bed. Their gazes connect… and Honchkrow feels Cyrus's chest cave in with a sharp inhale.

_"I’m sorry, Cyrus."_ Barely audible. Quiet like the rays of sunshine upon still waters. _"But I need to go. I'll be back though… I promise."_

"All right, all right." Skuntank herds the human back. "Get going already."

Purugly turns back to the Pokemon. "This human was asking something really strange earlier." Her eyes light up at the prospect of gossip. "Marsies caught her staring at some stone: a white stone that she claimed was a Moonstone. Then the human's asking if anyone knew anything about it."

"Meh-heh-heh… of course we didn't." Toxicroak crosses his arms. "We've never heard of a Moonstone being white and round… But the pattern _did_ look familiar. Felt like I've seen it before, meh-heh-heh... but I don't remember."

"Yes, the stones did have, erm, a peculiar inscription. Like this." Tangrowth draws that in the air to the best of his abilities. "Erm… the stone looked like a piece of a key. To someplace really, really mysterious. Erm, then she's asking if any of us knew about its counterpart. Erm… it was a… Red Sunstone, right, Purugly?

"Yes, but aren't Sunstones orange?"

"What a strange girl. What does she expect to find in this decrepit old mansion?" Skuntank then clears her throat, causing Cynthia's Pokemon jump. "Chaw-haw-haw… earth to you two. Hurry up. It's about time you scampered home."

* * *

When her Pokemon leave, Crobat falls back into Honchkrow's breast. Weavile is still in Cyrus's lap. Gyarados is staring intently at a small nook in the wooden pane.

"So she remembered," Honchkrow mutters, his voice vibrating down his chest. "What happens now? We can't keep up this charade for much longer…"

Weavile looks up from his dangling feet. He's squinting at the crow and bat with a peculiar look. His face is grim with questions, but he doesn't voice them. No, he remains quiet and solemn, a sign of respect for his friends.

Fingers nudge Crobat's ears.

 _Cyrus!_ She holds nonexistent cheeks. His fingers move again, jerking like a malfunctioning robot's—as if she'll lash at him if he even dares to touch her.

"Cyrus!" The man's staring intently at his Pokemon. Slowly, painfully, he extends a shaky hand.

"Kid…" Weavile returns the shy embrace. The boy's face rests on the cat's shoulders. Honchkrow spreads a protective wing around his Trainer's head, his feathers bristling at the mess under those bandages.

"CYRUS." Gyarados reaches a whisker through the broken glass. "WE ARE HERE, CYRUS."

Crobat feels the boy's ragged breating. Feels the uncanny warmth of his skin. Cyrus hesitates, but he gingerly buries his chalky face deeper into their embrace.

_"Crobat… Honchkrow… Gyarados… Weavile…"_

They freeze just like that, as if time had skipped a beat, as if that very moment had slipped from its linear tracks.

"Cyrus?" Crobat whispers.

He pulls his Pokemon inwards. His grip is unusually tight… as if releasing them, his Pokemon, will be an irreversible mistake. One that he cannot repeat. The trembling has worsened until the whole world is shaking along with him.

Then his lips move. His team has to fall into his ribs to even hear those words.

_"What will become of me?"_

* * *

Cynthia half-expected to be back in that forest of a thousand trees. When she closes her eyes, she sees that mansion. When she opens them, she sees the vast, overcast skies beyond Togekiss's back.

It's still so disorienting. It's like she just stepped out from another world entirely. 

"At least the rain stopped." Cynthia rubs her eyes until the moisture clears. The sun isn't here. Just some nameless light that illuminates the horizon.

Togekiss is silent. Something is occupying its thoughts, and it shows.

"They didn't know anything about it, Togekiss." _It._ The Red Sunstone. _From what the remnants of his team had said, they absolutely no knowledge that such a thing even existed._

 _"The White Moonstone?"_ Jupiter had frowned at the treasure when Cynthia brought it out for show-and-tell. _"Aren't Moonstones black? Why is this one smooth and round? What idiot told you that this was a Moonstone?"_

Togekiss chirps, jarring Cynthia from her thoughts. She palms the pulsating treasure. It's warm to the touch, as if it had exhausted its tears on a futile cry to the heavens.

_Just how will I get the information out of him? It's not like I can just waltz in. "Oh, Cyrus, I know I told you to fuck off earlier, but I needed to kick you around a bit more until I've completely invalidated your existence. Wait, but I just remembered that you're actually a human being with feelings! And they actually work! Oops! Sorry! I was wrong! Water under the bridge now, right?"_

"I really didn't give a damn… did I, Togekiss?"

No reply. Could've been a "yes." That bitter taste has become a mainstay in her mouth. Cynthia forces air into her lungs and spurs Togekiss forward. Her heart lurches at the familiar hills—the waterfalls and the road that winds up to the castle with billowing flags.

_"Are you sure you want to do this, Cynthia?"_ Togekiss seems to say. _"We can go back…"_

"Yes. I'm done running away. Legendary Pokemon or not, it won't scare me anymore."

Togekiss sighs. Nevertheless, it lands on the patch of blowing grass. Cynthia steps down and looks up.

_Has the Sinnoh League ever felt so… wrong?_

* * *

"CYNTHIA?!!"

The first thing she sees upon entering the doors is the flash of red. Then warmth. Then fluffy red hair tickling her face.

"Holy moly Lopunny it IS you! It's been forever! I haven't seen you since… well… since the last monster storm! Are you okay?! ARE YOU HURT?!!"

"Hi, Flint." She musters a smile as she gently peels him off. _Damn. He looks so different. So foreign._

"Cynthia!" Flint throws his arms around her. Again. Her skin prickles at his touch. _Calm down heart. Calm the fuck down._

"Where'd you go?" Flint is crying. "Professor Rowan called a while back. But then you disappeared again!"

_Rowan? Damn, how long had the journey to Foggy Forest been? How long had anything been?_ Just thinking on her life before Fogbound Lake leaves her brain a muddled mess.

_I was a completely different person back then, huh…?_

Flint places a hand on her shoulder. She fights back the urge to flinch. "As long as you're safe, it's okay. With everything that's happening: the time stopping, the national manhunt and—"

"Manhunt?"

Flint cringes at her tone. "U-Um… yeah." Then he's looking at anything _but_ her. "Um… yeah…"

_"Flint."_

"I think you should see for yourself." He turns up the gilded stairs without a second glance. There's something fundamentally wrong here, and she can't put her finger on it. The air grows heavier as she follows Flint to those familiar double doors.

"Things have gotten out of hand."

But before she can even confirm that was indeed Flint's voice, he shoves open the door. And there lies the repercussions of all the things she had done and things that she has yet to do. 

* * *

"Cynthia!"

Aaron jumps off his chair to tackle her. Bertha hurries over, her worried gaze raking over the younger woman until she's content that Cynthia is safe and sound.

"Cynthia!" Aaron cries. His scream rattles her brain. "Oh, Cynthia! Where have you been? We were so worried!"

"Don't tell me you weren't doing anything stupid again!" Bertha squeezes Cynthia's hand. The touch should've been comforting… it should've been… "Even Looker didn't know where you were!"

_He didn't? Oh… so he kept his word…_

"I'm okay." Cynthia keeps her voice steady. "I just needed some time to think. But I'm here now. What'd I miss?"

"Aaron, Bertha, give her some sp—"

"Cynthia?"

Heads snap up when the last of the Elite Four runs up to the Champion at the same time that Flint's jaw slams shut. The tall man stops before her, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and bright behind his glasses.

"Lucian," is the faint reply.

Lucian grabs her shoulders. His lips move, but he doesn't repeat Flint's show of affection. He's not the touchy type.

"Arceus, Cynthia! I was worried sick! I thought… I thought he got to you again!"

_He._ Hot blood coils down her heart. Cynthia casually shrugs Lucian's grasp and fixes a small smile for him—a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"You've missed a lot, Cynthia," Aaron murmurs, shuffling next to Bertha. "There's been… um… developments."

"That Galactic criminal escaped from prison!" Lucian snaps, slicing his hand across the volatile air. "And now he's out there, terrorizing the world with that bastard Charon!"

"LUCIAN, SHUT UP! THAT'S NOT—"

Then everyone's looking at her. Cynthia clamps her mouth before she exposes herself. Before her secret gets out.

Because they're not supposed to know that she recovered her memories.

"Not what, Cynthia?" Bertha's tone is unusually sharp.

_DAMNDAMNDAMN THINK!!!_ "That's not… inaccurate," is the lame response.

Lucian exhales, the breath rattling his teeth. "Of course not. All signs point to that _freak_ as being the mastermind behind the distortion of the time. The entire police force is after his head, but he's as elusive as his damn sanity."

Cynthia realizes that her hands are screaming, that her nails have pressed deep enough to draw blood.

"I've made a map of all possible locations as to where he could be hiding." Lucian shoves Flint aside as he marches to the bulletin board. _Arceus, that board…_ "We've got the Time Gears under lockdown. The fourth and fifth Gear are still out there, but we have officers stationed at every corner to nab that dastardly thief.

"Veilstone, Eterna, Sunyshore"—knuckles rap against the board—"are under tight surveillance. The Gym Leaders have also lent us their full cooperation…"

But then his glasses glint in a way that sends gooseflesh down Cynthia's neck. "Except… that the _leader_ in Sunyshore doesn't seem to understand the scope of the situation… _Flint."_

Flint returns a cold smile. _"Volkner_ can do anything he wants. He doesn't have to listen to you… _Lucian."_

"This is a matter of saving the world!" A hand smacking against the bulletin, the impact reverberating out the towering windows. "How did an apathetic fool like him become a Gym Leader in the first place? He doesn't care about anything! Because of him, Sunyshore will fall—"

Flint's fists shoot out, pinning Lucian onto his carefully-crafted board. Papers scatter to the floor. That wanted poster slips under Cynthia's heel, blue and amber eyes meeting for just a heartbeat in time before she abruptly turns away.

"Don't call my friend a fool!" Flint hisses. Lucian's eyes glint again, this time with an even darker edge. "Don't ever fucking insult my friend, you damned four-eyes!"

"Don't spit on me, you damned fool!" Lucian snaps, shoving Flint aside. "And your _friend_ can care less with what I call him!

"Focus! If we don't catch that criminal, he'll go around hurting others to enact his revenge! That _heartless freak_ caused Cynthia's memory loss! Kidnapped her, held her hostage until she exposed him for the _monster_ that he was! Do you want that _lunatic_ to hurt her again? Do you want him to hurt Volkner?!"

Flint cringes. His face is black with rage, but his jaw is tight. His fists are also very, very tight.

If it isn't for Aaron's whimpering behind her, Cynthia would've let the blood destroy her eardrums. The former's hands are gripping her sleeve.

"Enough." All winces under Bertha's cold, commanding voice. The older woman physically divides the two taller men, shoving them into respective corners. "That's enough, Flint and Lucian! You two have been at each other's throats ever since Crystal Cave, and I've had enough of your bickering! Cynthia's here, so stop acting like children and DO YOUR DAMN JOBS!!"

"B-Bertha's right," Lucian growls to the snarling Flint. "We have to work together. We _have_ to bring this criminal to justice, even if it means getting our hands dirty. The sooner we get him; the sooner the world will return to normal."

Flint jerks his head away, but not before Cynthia catches the curses that frothed from his mouth, words that would make the most hardened sailor do a double-take.

"I need fresh air." Flint brushes aside the gawking group and storms to the door, making sure that it slams like a damn earthquake behind him. Lucian grits his teeth, but he turns and wholly focuses on regathering his case files.

"What's happening to everyone?" Aaron whispers. His eyes are wide and watery. "Everything's falling apart… our team is falling apart…"

"Don't say that." Bertha lays a hand on his hunched shoulders. An edge had taken to her usually kind face. "Everyone's stressed out as of late. Give them some time. They'll get over it."

There's no confidence behind that sentiment.

Aaron gives Bertha a very desperate look. With a curt nod to Cynthia, the two quietly excuse themselves.

Then it's just her and Lucian. The man refuses to look at her. It's also difficult for her to return the custom. 

"You should rest, Cynthia," he finally grunts, his normally smooth, composed timbre nowhere to be heard. He's still talking to the air. "We'll regroup soon."

Cynthia nods, even if he doesn't catch that. The cold hole in her heart grows with each step away until there's physical wall dividing the Elite Four from the Champion and themselves. The air's heavy, just like the atmosphere of Foggy Forest. Her shadow stares back when she looks down. False sunlight wafts through glass windows, washing the League in a veil of grey.

_Clip. Clop._ She stops. Cynthia turns to the empty space beside her. She grabs for the wall. Her fist doesn't connect with brick, and she twists until that cloth finally buckles from her strength.

Looker stiffens when their gazes connect. He's much, much older than the last time they met, before she set out to Sunyshore and returned with more than she could handle.

"You heard," is all she says. Looker hesitates—then his expression hardens, and the Detective pulls himself up to the full extent of his height.

"Why did you come back, Cynthia?" he says.

* * *

Mock sunlight drifts through the broken glass of the Old Chateau. Now that the rain's stopped, the mood had lightened somewhat. Somewhat… Darkness isn't prevalent as much, and a hint of silver lightning can be seen in those bruised clouds.

Saturn braces himself when he opens the door. The Boss is upright again; his Pokemon he holds tightly against his chest.

_Come on, feet._ Saturn forces a step. Then another. One more until he reaches that bed. He's very aware of the Pokemon's intense stares as he sets the tray of soup down the stool.

"H-Hey, Master Cyrus," Saturn says to the floor. "I-I tried making soup today. Jupiter told me that I added too much salt. But um… I-I tried, so-so… You should eat, Da—sir. Sir. Or you'll get sick."

Silence. Crushing gravity presses onto Saturn's neck, coming very close to snapping it off his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, replays Jupiter's broken message about everything being all right, rewinds Mars's song about finding the sun within a sea of rain.

Then he looks up to meet the false blue skies.

Saturn flinches, but quickly recomposes himself. "B-B-Boss?" Cyrus is staring straight at the Commander—not behind him, not at the cave of his chin—but straight into his eyes. "Boss? Can you… can you see me?"

One more second, and his heart will explode and spray the walls. "Boss? Da—Master Cyrus, can you hear me?! Oh fu--! Master Cyrus!" _DAMN FUCK SHIT IT'S ACTUALLY HAPPENING!!_ "Master Cyrus, please respond! Master Cyrus!!"

"Saturn?" Mars's voice flutters from outside. "Saturn, what are you screaming at?"

"Mars!" He almost knocks over that tray on his way out. "Mars, tell Jupiter to come quick! Tell everyone that Master Cyrus—"

Saturn freezes. _What was… no, that definitely wasn't the wind. That was definitely…_

The Galactic Commander slowly, painfully turns to the glowering man behind him. "Boss?" His pounding heart almost drowns out his words. "Y-Y-You called me…?"

That glare is very, very cold. But there's something else under all that ice… something. Something very, very wrong. Something that doesn't belong in Cyrus's usual impassive demeanor. Something that makes Saturn's chest squeeze tighter and tighter until darkness gnaws at the edges of his vision.

"I am not your boss anymore." It's barely there, that voice… Barely there, but it's the loudest thing in the room. "Why did you come back, Saturn? Why did you look for me?" 

* * *

The skies haven't cleared up yet. Overcast still there, and traces of sunlight remain still uncertain. A chilly breeze tugs at Looker's hair, exposing the fresh lines on his scalp.

Looker fishes into his pockets. Cynthia looks down to see a triangular juice pouch in his extended hand.

"No thanks."

His hand is still there. She finally accepts it with a weary sigh.

"I like grape. And this is my favorite brand," Looker says as he sips his own pouch. "Convenient to carry, sustainable to dispose. I brought another one with me just in case I happened to run into someone familiar."

Cynthia's inhaling more than she can ingest. Looker keeps his eyes overhead as she sucks the pouch dry. He waits until she's slurping at air, gives it a few seconds, then speaks.

"Everything's changing so fast."

Cynthia almost chokes on her straw. Looker crumples his own carton into a tiny ball. "With the recent disturbances in time, people and Pokemon also seem to be exhibiting stranger behaviors. INTERPOL's still looking into it, but we're almost confident that the link between the distortion and increased criminal activity are positive."

Looker folds his hands behind his head, leaning down to the moist grass. "We still haven't found Charon yet. He's still out there… plotting… hiding… And there's virtually no trace of him either, from the evidence we've confiscated."

Cynthia is silent again. Looker jams his freezing hands into his pockets. "Everyone is mobilized towards his apprehension." _Him._ Not Charon. "INTERPOL's sent troops to every corner of Sinnoh. They've closed the region off to contain this phenomenon."

"And also to prevent him from escaping."

"Y-Yes." _She's right. She's right, Handsome._ "Due to the bounty, we've many leads, but they all point to nowhere."

"Hmm."

Looker tries not to peer into her face, focusing instead on the ambiguous signs in the clouds. _She definitely knows something._ But she won't tell him. He knew her well enough to know that she'll close herself off, and that would be disastrous, considering that she's the only person he can trust in these turbulent times.

"Are you helping Lucian, Looker?"

A sharp inhale. "He asked me—no, _begged_ me—to put him on the case. He's adamant on finding Cyrus, much like every other officer who wants that head on a stake. I… I couldn't say no. If I did…"

Cynthia understands. She grabs a fistful of wet grass and watches them swirl away in the breeze. "What happened while I was gone, Looker?"

_Oof, where to even begin?_ "Well… long story short, the Elite Four's losing cohesion. Flint and Lucian are in a cold war about who-knows-what. It's not my place to ask. Bertha's doing her best to keep it together. Aaron doesn't want to take sides, but if things continue like this…"

A flock of Starly soar overhead, their anguished cries slicing across the melancholy skies. Somewhere in the far distance, waves crash against a craggy bluff. Further than that, a multicolored geyser wavers ever so slightly, its waters reflecting crimson crystals amongst three heads of gold, pink, and blue. As of right now, the storm is but a memory, yet there appears to be an even bigger catastrophe in the near future.

Cynthia shifts. He can't read her face. "What about you, Detective?" she says. "What have you been doing?"

"My job," is the half-hearted reply. "INTERPOL's a frenzy right now."

A silence. She purses her lips. "If… if they _do_ ca—find Cyrus… then what will become of him?"

She's staring at Looker with desperate eyes. Looker stares back and lets his solemn expression answer her. Then Cynthia drops her head. Even Looker has to breathe to calm his thundering heart.

"You know what's funny?" _Real smooth, Handsome._ Cynthia frowns. He lets his brain ramble. "Remember when I asked you if something bad _had_ happened at Crystal Cave? Seems like a long time ago now, has it? You know, when I returned to find him on the floor, that's when I began to think. Was he really the monster that everyone portrayed him as? I didn't know why I stayed with him until he woke up, but when I saw him open his eyes… well…" His hand automatically climbs to his chest, messaging the wound that still hasn't healed. "Well… maybe my doubts weren't just doubts after all."

"Why are you telling me this, Looker?" Her voice is small, but she's staring at him intently. She's been dead quiet until he looked at her, and that's when she decided to speak.

Looker shrugs. _How do I tell you if I don't even know myself?_

Trees shiver in the chilly wind. Looker pulls his coat tighter. He watches a stray dandelion uproot itself to join its friends in the sky.

"Thank you, Looker." She doesn't have to specify the context. Looker's lips twitch at those words, the leaden weight seemingly lifting off his heart.

"No problem, Cynthia. Your privacy is my number-one priority." A soft laugh. "You know, if it wasn't for you, then I wouldn't know how to even handle this case." _If it wasn't for you, I would've been all alone. Would've pulled out all my hair and leapt off the deep end._

Cynthia gives him a small, timid smile. _She's trying her best. I'm trying my best. We all are._

Then after who-knows-how-long, he stands. Looker dusts the grass off his slacks as he marvels at the grey bands of light in the brightening skies.

"You're going?" Cynthia grunts, also rising to her feet.

"Yes."

"Okay." She inhales a whiff of stale air. "Don't be a stranger, Looker. Let me know if you ever need anything."

"Of course." _A nap sounds really good right now._ "Thanks, Cynthia. Take care."

As he turns to leave, he stops. "Cynthia?"

"Yes?"

He replays the words in his mind... before his lips tug into the smallest hint of a smile.

"You're amazing, you know that? Coming back here, exposing yourself to danger just to uncover the truth… You're the strongest person I know, Cynthia. And your title has nothing to do with that."

Cynthia's eyes widen until they resemble moons. Looker chuckles. "But that doesn't mean you should be doing everything by yourself. You're still young… so reach out to us old folks too. We're here for you, just as you've been for us."

His words linger in the air well after it's spoken. Cynthia's fixing him with a rather… odd sort of look. An unfocused gaze, as if her mind is faraway, disconnected from the reality in which her ears operate in.

And she grins, a gesture as radiant as dazzling moonlight. "Thank you, Looker. But… there's someone else that deserves your kind words much more than me. Someone much, much stronger than I am."

_And who might that be?_ Looker knows he won't receive an answer though. And that's okay. As long as Cynthia's content, then hope can still be found. There's still a chance for sunlight to bathe the dark and cold world with its warmth.

"Thank you, Looker." He's about to tell her that she'd repeated herself, but he lets it slide upon seeing the sparkle in her eyes.

He happens to blink, and in that heartbeat of time, someone else is smiling at him. Someone in Cynthia's spot. But it's not the young woman. No, it's a girl. A plain, little girl not burdened by mounting expectations or delusions of grandeur. A fragile, happy girl who holds her head high, still searching for that silver lining in the sky.

* * *

Togekiss descends before Cynthia can realize what was happening. The bird knows where it's going, and for once, it doesn't question its Trainer's questionable actions.

The hands of a faraway clock unwind as she wades deeper into the forest. And yet… something feels off. A deep, penetrating chill within her visceral organs, a coldness with no explanation. Her heart pounds with each step, the reasonable region of her mind sending white flowers to her eyes when she stops before the door.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Even the Starly had ceased their song. The door creaks open before she even knocks.

"B-2," she gasps. "R-8. What happened?"

The Grunts silently step aside. Cynthia flashes a glance to Togekiss before the two enter the melancholy mansion. Grunts sit up at her presence, but no one stops her. No one even looks at her.

It's like walking through the cemetery.

**_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._** Cynthia freezes when she sees Jupiter slumped against the wall. The latter had her knees huddled near her chest, her head hidden in a shield of violet.

Mars is also on the floor, her eyes open and glassy, her shoulders loose and quivering. She twitches when Cynthia approaches, but other than that, her usual carefree mirth is nowhere to be seen.

 **_Tick. Tick. Tock._ **Something had gone terribly wrong.

And that's when Cynthia turns to see Saturn hunched against the wall, his face hidden by his hands. His shoulders are trembling, a faint whimper escaping through the cracks in his fingers. He's not glaring at her today. He's not doing anything at all.

**_Tick._** The unmarked door is slightly ajar. An unseen chill seeps from that small opening. Cynthia stumbles back when the door creaks open— _CRRRRRRRREEEE—_ with the help of indivisible hands.

**_Tock._** Togekiss whimpers. Despite every morsel of reason screaming at her to run away, to turn her back and never return, Cynthia mounts forward with her head held high.

**_Tick. To o o ck kkkkk k_**

"Cyrus?"

His Pokemon are the first to react. They're positioned around his bed, almost like a fortress. That name carries in the musty air, pushing across the miasma to reach his ears.

And he shifts. He tears his gaze from his functional hand—from the wanted poster grasped so tightly in his trembling grip.

_"Aka—"_

**_TOCK._** Then the clock stops. Shirona glances around—and shatters into shards of forgotten memory before she can even scream.

Their eyes meet. And for the first time, he's seeing her as the person that she is, not for who she once was. The memories spark in that moment of connection—memories of what is, events that were actually valid and correct. The cruel truth and nothing but that.

Not that sunlit beach from eons ago. Never the blazing rings of the summer sun, not the multicolored bubbles dancing in the laughter of the boy and girl as they ran, hand-in-hand, to that ugly yellow house with the three palms trees, the door opening to reveal a grinning old man…

No. Those memories were false. Incorrect. Therefore, they aren't real. They never happened.

"The Hero of Sinnoh." Nothing in that voice. So many things in her heart. Resignation in his face. Hurt in his eyes, quickly relinquished to fear. "Of course justice prevails over the lowly villain in the end...

"Are you content now that you've interfered with my plans and ruined everything?"


	29. Cynthia and Cyrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia makes a plea. The future has never been so uncertain.

His back stiffens when her foot slides forward. His breathing stops, his bandaged fingers curling inwards until bones snap.

"Cyrus…" His name stirs up so many emotions. So many things that she'd overlooked. So many things that have been lost, never to be found again.

"You don't have to call me that." He shoves the worn wanted poster into the gap. Those two face don't resemble each other at all. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't. I—"

His spine cracks to the 90° angle. Cynthia starts, but his Pokemon are quicker. Even from here, she can hear his ragged, labored breathing.

"I… I apologize, Hero." Barely there, that voice. "I'm in no place to force demands onto you. I won't… I won't do anything." He keeps his head down as he extends his hands, cringing as he attempts to dislocate his arm sling.

"No…" Cynthia's throat is unbearably parched, so dry that it might've bled just by speaking. Her eyes sting, and it's not from the dust. "No, Cyrus. No… I'm not… Don't do that!"

Cyrus tenses. He peers up at her from under his partition of hair—that functioning eye black and broken. "You're not here to take me away? Do you want something from me? Ah. Of course, you must have questions. That's why you're here."

He raises his head. Cynthia flinches so violently, staggering back until she hits something soft and warm. And trembling.

Jupiter might've been hiding behind Cynthia the entire time.

"Armed guards are awaiting my arrest," Cyrus mutters. "The mansion is surrounded. You even brought in snipers."

Her heart's close to exploding. It doesn't help that Jupiter's nails are pressing into her arms. "Cy—Cyrus…" She swallows the nausea back down. "Cyrus, please, listen to me. I—I didn't come here to a-a-a… I didn't come to take you away!"

She even points to the windows. Gyarados shifts, revealing the pale pink skies of early dawn. Cyrus frowns. He keeps his hand in the air, much to her horror. Then her spirit breaks, and she can't even look at him in the eye.

"Cyrus," she tries again in a futile attempt to be strong. "Cyrus. I just want to talk."

Silence. Nerve-wracking, mind-numbing silence. Silence so loud that her eardrums throb. The springs shift.

"So you _do_ wish to interrogate me."

Cynthia's stomach had knotted into itself. Now the contents are threatening to spill up her throat. "N-No. No. No…"

Cyrus straightens. His chest heaves again, his neck snaps down, and he's about to grasp the back of his head when he grits his teeth, yanking back his trembling hand to force it up in the air. All while struggling to stay awake.

"All right… I'll… I'll try… not to disappoint." His voice is fading again. But he shakes his head. "That's… that's why you nursed me back to health, after all. It'll be a shame if your efforts were wasted."

Cynthia's hands fly to her stomach. "Cyrus… no, no that's not true. We… your team saved you. They stayed with you until you woke up."

Cyrus blinks. Then he notices the tall woman behind Cynthia. The former gasps while his expression darkens. Darkens like the bruised skies of Hearthome.

"I have no team," he states coldly and flatly. "I disbanded that cult. We've no association to each other."

"NO!" Saturn staggers into the room. The Pokemon hiss at him. He freezes, but still manages enough dignity to look his boss in the eye. "No! We're still a team! We're family, Master Cyrus!"

"Why must you insist on calling me that?" Saturn stumbles back with his hands over his heart. Cyrus's lips bristle, revealing gleaming teeth. "I am not your boss anymore. I'm a criminal who tore you away from the lives you so rightfully deserve! Stop thinking of me as someone else and see me for _what_ I _am!"_

"Boss, stop it!" Mars cries. She'd forced herself to stand with Saturn. "No, you're still our boss! I don't care what other people think of you! You're precious to me!"

_"Exactly_ what a brainwashed victim would say! You had a chance to leave, to reintegrate yourself with society! There's no reason to stay behind with this irredeemable psychopath who can't provide _anything_ for you!"

"Cyrus!" Cynthia steps aside for Jupiter. The taller woman is quivering like a leaf. And that's not right. Not right at all. "Cyrus, please! Stop calling yourself that! You're not—"

"I know _full well_ what I am, ma'am!" Jupiter's knees buckle, and she would've hit the floor if Cynthia hadn't been behind her. "And I believe _you_ know of my true face as well. You know of my lies… of my manipulation… my scheme to force all of you into my delusion of a plan! Skip the pleasantries and arrest me already!"

"Doctor Cyrus!"

Cyrus's head whips to the Grunts. B-2 cringes. R-8 cowers behind her friend.

"Ah. You." Lips part to reveal fangs. "The gullible fools who _threw_ away their livelihood to a manipulative bastard's delusions of grandeur. Foolishly casting aside your names… the one thread tying you to reality! You all should've _left_ and _never_ came back!"

The remnants of Team Galactic stagger back until the only distance between them and their former boss is the Hero of Sinnoh herself. Even his Pokemon had retreated into a corner, far, far away from the bed.

_What do you even say right now?_ The silence is so heavy that spines show hints of sliding. 

Then Cyrus gasps. His hands are vibrating now, the tremors spreading to his toes. He attempts to turn, to hide in the shadows, only for his torso to lurch forward when movement touches his legs.

"What… what's wrong with me?" Cyrus's complexion blanches to a color even whiter than fresh snow. His eye is wide open, but it's so dark in there to know if he's seeing what he's supposed to be seeing. His knee twitches, and Cyrus's hand flies to his chest. 

"Why won't my legs work?" he whispers, almost like a plea. Cynthia winces when their gazes connect. It's too late to pull away, to pretend that nothing was seen, to have prevented the gaping wound in her heart to open into a bleeding void. Crimson blossoms once again gnaw at the edges of her vision.

Cyrus is glaring at his legs like it's the wanted poster. He moves again—and freezes. Dismisses that and tries once more… and almost loses consciousness.

Jupiter shoves Cynthia aside. "Cyrus, stop!" He stops her with a glare. Cynthia can hear the faintest of whimpers from the older woman's throat.

"I understand…" Cyrus's voice is low. He blinks the beads of perspiration from his eyes. "You came back… because you wanted revenge. Revenge against this emotionless freak for taking everything away from you…" Their weak protests fail to reach his ears. He stares at the faded blanket for the longest time…

Then he sighs. A sigh that rattles Cynthia to the bone. "Very well. Your judgement is long-overdue." He painfully tears the pillow from behind him. "Here. Get it over with already."

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Jupiter storms up to his bedside, her hand flashing in the light of daybreak. She brings her palm back and flings it with the force of ten thousand Machamp—

\--but she can't do it. Her burning fist stops within nanometers of his nose. Cyrus keeps his head down, his eyes closed. Jupiter's panting heavily, her uneven breaths rustling his hair. Everyone knows that even if she _did_ manage to slap sense into him, there's no telling _when_ he'd wake up again. _If_ he ever will, for that matter.

"FUCK!" Jupiter nabs the pillow and dashes the thing with all her might. Honchkrow pushes Crobat and Weavile back before the projectile can snap their necks.

"Cyrus!" Cynthia's aware of the younger Galactic Commanders behind her. Of their grips on her coat. Of Saturn's hugging her torso for dear life.

Cyrus's eyelids flutter open. He sees the exasperated woman before him. Sees the pillow on the ground, yellowed cotton spilling from its torn seams. Sees the Grunts hiding behind the Commanders; the Commanders hiding behind the Hero of Sinnoh who's hiding behind her golden partition.

"There's plenty of other opportunities," Cyrus says softly. His breathing is much too shallow for comfort. "I won't be going anywhere."

Then their gazes connect before she can even open her mouth. "I apologize for wasting your time, Hero," he says. "You came here for answers, yes? I'll tell you everything you need to know. No favors or conditions this time. No more games, I promise… and you can act accordingly if you deem fit."

Cynthia can't find her voice. It's somewhere within the deep well of her mind.

"But what about all the things you said?" Heads turn to the blue bowl-cut that just spoke. B-2 forces himself to be taller than he already is.

"Things I've… said…?" Cyrus's frown is vacant. His brows are furrowed as he sifts through that mess that are his distorted memories. "I've said all you needed to hear, sir—" B-2 pales "—back at that prison escape. The truth that I've kept from all of you. That and nothing more."

"N-No." Eyes turn to R-8. She takes a deep breath. "Not… not during that storm. Those… those other things that you've said."

Cyrus's frown is deepening with each passing second. "Things?" A pause. His Pokemon glance at each other. "I… see." Another pause. "Whatever they may be, I assure you that it wasn't important. Disregard those mad ramblings. Nothing more than delusions exacerbated by a needless fever."

And before anyone can reply to that, Cyrus lifts his gaze to his audience. "We're wasting time," he snaps with cold finality. "You must be at the edge of your patience right now, Hero. I assure you that there won't be any more disruptions from this point forward.

"Now, what do you wish to know?"

* * *

Cyrus keeps his hand on his lap. Where she can see it. Her stomach churns violently, and it's taking all her willpower not to throw up.

"Go on," he says. Then she's back in that suffocating white room. The linoleum table stretches like a giant chasm. Rain plinks against the bars of the small shoebox window. The criminal that she put away simply sits and waits, neverminding the cameras trained on his head nor the guns pressed against his back.

_Oh Arceus…_ Hot air swells to her mouth, but the words never come. _What do I even say? What do I tell him? He's waiting—HOLY ARCEUS HE'S STARING AT ME!! DAMNDAMNDAMNIT AUGGGH!_

Cyrus tilts his head. Her world tips on the side. He lowers his gaze. Her world plunges into darkness.

"We can start from the beginning, if you wish." Cyrus gauges her nonexistent reaction. His expression softens, eyes dulling like a neglected ax, and after a long exhale, he speaks.

"Your suspicions of foul play was right, Hero. It was me who orchestrated the theft of the first Time Gear… the one at Treeshroud Forest. It required meticulous planning to locate a mythical item… but alas, I've obtained the Time Gear in my custody, as you've seen."

He looks at her. She grasps her pounding chest. "And you were correct in assuming that I had intended to destroy the world. However—" He holds up a trembling finger "—and you may disregard me any time you wish—Time Gears themselves do not destroy anything." A cough. A wet cough. "If I may, how far has the paralysis spread, Hero?"

It's not until a Gastly tickles her neck does Cynthia snap back to earth. "U-Uh." She scrambles for the life she used to live before all this happened. "Um. M-Mystifying Forest. Treeshroud Forest. Routes surrounding Mt. Coronet. Snowpoint City. C-Canalave City, spreading into Jubilife." _And much, much more, according to Looker's grim proclamation._

"I see." Cyrus's tone is still frustratingly even. "So my plan to incite the planet's paralysis had indeed taken into effect."

"No!" His eyes narrow. She gasps—and quickly rightens herself. "B-But the Time Gears aren't missing from those areas! Everything's untouched, but time still stopped!" _Remember what you told me? All the way back then…_

Cyrus is staring at her. Cynthia resists the urge to look away… until he sighs. "And yet, I'm still responsible for the distortion in the world." His lips tug when her gaze accidentally slips to the wanted poster—the one at his side. "Time Gears work like any other gear. Remove them, and the machine stops. Return them, and the machine works. That's often how things get fixed…

"I digress. Anyhow, that's exactly what I had planned to do with the stolen Time Gears. What I sought was a world… one free of conflict and pain. One such world existed in the very beginning of the universe… a universe where time had just begun to flow, when space had first started to expand. There should have been no strife.

"But what became of that world? Because the human spirit is weak and incomplete, strife has spread. The world is being ruined by it… I find this state of affairs to be deplorable, hence I looked for change by tapping into the untold powers of the Time Gears.

"I planned to harness the energies of such mythical objects. If I can freeze time… freeze the current flow of affairs, I can release the bound potential to restart the clock, metaphorically speaking. All will end… and everything will begin. I intended to create a world of complete perfection, so nothing as vague and incomplete as spirit can remain."

You can hear a speck of dust fall from the questionable third floor. _L-dump, l-dump…_ hearts skip a beat, fumble for a pulse, then resume their shaky march into a finite eternity.

Then Cyrus drops his head. "Quite a delusion, won't you agree? To think that I've invested so much energy into pursuing a stupid fairy-tale… Thankfully, you and the Detective foiled my plan before I could hurt those most precious to you." 

The poison in his tone almost burns off Cynthia's ears. Venom, thorns, ice… double-edged words piercing into her heart, but she only receives the blunt of the attack. The main thrust was always self-inflicted.

Cyrus chuckles. It's more of a sigh than anything. "You can tell all that to Detective Looker. That should be enough to incriminate me."

"CYRUS!" The scream rips from her throat before her brain can make sense of it. Cyrus jerks away, and it takes him a good minute before he can open his eyes. Cynthia reins her emotions from overpowering her rationale. Barely. "Cyrus, stop that! Just… just tell me the truth!"

And his expression darkens. "That _is_ the truth, Hero of Sinnoh." His tone is deliberately harsh… as if she'd insulted him. "At least… that's my truth. It doesn't hold much merit, but that's the best I can offer you right now." A grim twist to his mouth. It's not a sneer. "But I've spent all my life chasing after a flawed illusion… and look where that landed me. Nowhere. Back to square one. What's the point in lying about my intents now, when you've went through all the trouble of bringing me back?"

"N-No." Saturn clears his throat. Tries again. "No, don't listen to him!" He runs to Cynthia's face. _"I_ was the one who took Treeshroud Forest's Time Gear! I can tell you my exact route!"

Mars leaps from behind the wall. _"I_ was the one who traced its location, Miss Cynthia! I can tell you which program I used, how I triangulated its position based on past expeditions!"

Jupiter gasps. She staggers to the front, standing before her two Commanders. "A-And _I_ was the one researching the process of harnessing their energies! Cynthia, I was involved as much as anyone else!"

_"We_ did too!" Grunts file into position, their chins held high. _"We_ captured Pokemon that fit the celestial theme!"

_"I_ eavesdropped on official police business," B-2 hisses. "I even passed myself off as a reporter!"

"And _I_ was in charge of covering our tracks!" R-8 plants a hand to her chest. "I made sure our company front remained unaffiliated to the missing Time Gear incident!"

Cynthia stumbles back. She would've hit the bed if the Pokemon didn't snap at her leg. The Commanders, the Grunts… the remnants of his team glare back at her—back at their boss—with nothing but burning conviction in their eyes.

A silence.

Then Cyrus laughs. He drops his head, his shoulders shaking as ragged pockets of air escape from his closed throat. The sounds send her heartbeat into an explosive sprint.

"Master Cyrus…" gasps his audience.

"Hehe… what truly horrifying results…" Cyrus tilts his head, that broken gaze fixed on the shivering Champion. "It appears that the brainwashing was successful. Wonderful. Hero, there's more evidence to help in your case."

Cynthia's hand flashes before Jupiter can stop her. Cyrus waits for a slap that never came. Cynthia controlled herself just in time. Because that's exactly what he wanted, and she can't have him falling deeper into the hole that they've all dug for him.

Cyrus sighs. His shoulders were slumped. Another wet cough rattles his chest and malfunctioning legs. "I can write another confession, if you wish. What else is Detective Looker missing from his investigation?"

Team Galactic can pass off as statues. Lifelike, crystallized statues. The Pokemon observe this scene with silent judgement. Cyrus's gaze flickers to them, lingering briefly, before returning to squint at the gaping Hero of Sinnoh.

_Shit! What the hell do I do! Arceus! Grandma! Looker! I've found Cyrus, but I can't even—_

 _"Calm down, Cynthia."_ A familiar voice. A faint, but clear phantasmal whisper. A small hand grasping her own, warm and soft like the rays of the moon and sun at first light. Warmth in her pocket. Tingling sentimentality in her heart.

Cynthia takes a deep breath. Cyrus regards her with vacant eyes.

"I need your help," she says. "Cyrus."

Cyrus blinks. He blinks again, glancing around the room as if he had misheard. And judging from the Commanders' reactions, Cynthia had indeed spoken what she'd intended to speak.

"I'm… fully cooperating with your investigation," Cyrus says slowly. Could've been a question. "You're free to interrogate me as you wish."

"No." She glares at him. He returns the scowl, but something else is bubbling under his mask. "I need your help, Cyrus—" stated with all its implications and meaning "—to stop the planet's paralysis."

She lets that note sink in. Lets the room absorb it. Allows herself time to process what she just said and what she will say.

"Are you _mad?_ " _On the flip side, Cyrus has shown a wide range of emotions as of late, contrary to popular belief._ " _My_ help? What can a no-good _criminal_ like me do? Have you forgotten that _I_ was the one who stole that Time Gear, that _I_ wanted to halt time so I can reset the world to my twisted fantasy?"

_YES! YES, I DO!!_ The rage surges forward, but Cynthia forces all those needless sentimentality back into her stomach. _He mustn't win._ "T-That's _exactly_ why it has to be you, Cyrus. You're the only person who knows how the Time Gears work. The only one who knows about Dialga, the planet's paralysis, the myths… Please, you're my only hope of saving the world."

Cyrus has no clue in hell what expression to put on his face, and it shows. "Miss Champion?" he says this very deliberately, as if regurgitating information to a child. "I mean no disrespect, but _you_ are the _Champion_ of Sinnoh. The _Hero_ of the region." He gropes for the wanted poster. _"I_ am the _Villain_ that you put away. _I_ am the escaped _prisoner_ with a _bounty_ on his head. You… _do_ know that you have access to a far better pool of candidates for your proposition… right?"

_That's exactly the problem, Cyrus._ Cynthia prepares herself for the long road ahead by practicing simple breathing exercises. Some mindfulness. Silent assurances that this is the right path… and what she's about to say is an all-or-nothing gamble.

_It's too late to turn back now._ "Charon tried to kill me."

At the mention of that name, Cyrus's frigid mask shatters like a jackhammer to the mirror. Mars gasps, causing Saturn to recoil, causing Jupiter to flinch, and all the Grunts to assume defensive positions.

"He did _what?"_ Jupiter hisses. The strength had returned to her voice.

"I thought that bastard was dead!" Saturn snarls.

Mars gawks at Cynthia. "When… when did this happen?"

"Victory Road, not long after the Operation," Cynthia says, and their faces turn aghast. "He was hiding, waiting for a chance to ambush me. And he almost succeeded, if he hadn't dropped my Poke balls while fleeing."

"But wasn't there security to get near the League? 24/7 posts?" B-2 gnashes his teeth at the small nod. "I mean, I understand why he'd want to target you, Miss Cynthia. You're an influential figure to all of Sinnoh, but something's still not sitting with me…"

R-8 clicks her tongue. "Yes. The real issue is: _how_ did Charon get inside Victory Road without proper clearance? He could've burrowed his way in. Or…" Everyone turns to the Breakfast Grunt as realization blossoms into terrifying reality.

_"Or he had help on the inside."_

"Charon did indeed have an accomplice." Cynthia makes sure to maintain eye contact with Cyrus as she speaks. "Both working under Dialga's mind control. And I know _exactly_ who that traitor is."

And upon saying that name, Saturn's gasp pushes him to his feet. "Arceus, that's the one!" Everyone's staring at him now. "Yes, yes! Boss, you were right!"

_What?_ Cynthia's jaw drops. Cyrus immediately looks away. "Cy… Cyrus?" She licks her lips. "You… You knew…?"

"He was putting together the case after he dragged you back from Foggy Forest," Jupiter says, ignoring his pointed glare. His fist is trembling again. "I saw his bulletin. He took all the evidence and pieced it together."

"He spent _nights_ on that, Miss Cynthia." Mars's eyes are grim and solemn. "He wouldn't sleep until he profiled your attacker."

Cynthia turns to the man on the bed. The same man who had indeed rescued her life, more times than she ever did with his. "Why did you lie, Cyrus?" He jolts at her unusually gentle tone. "Why did you claim responsibility for my memory loss? It wasn't you—"

"They have _no_ idea what they're talking about!" She stumbles at his sudden rise in voice. Jupiter catches the former before she falls on the floor.

"N-No! _You_ have no idea what you're talking about!" Cynthia shoots back, much to his extreme disbelief. "I went to Foggy Forest, Cyrus! I climbed all the way up to Fogbound Lake, where I saw Uxie! Yes, Uxie, the mythical Pokemon whose spirit matched to the crystal at Crystal Cave! And Garchomp—" The land dragon emerges from its capsule "—told me everything! How you rescued me at Foggy Forest! You came with your Crobat, and instead of leaving with the Time Gear, you chose to save me instead!"

The hands of a broken clock slowly but surely ticked, somewhere in the near distance. Cyrus turns to his Pokemon. Crobat stares back with somber eyes. The man drags his attention to Garchomp, who nods, then to Cynthia, who awaits his judgement with hammering heart.

"Garchomp _told_ you?" he echoes. "Your Pokemon… _spoke_ to you?"

"Yes! Well… not really. But I saw her flashback! Pokemon can _indeed_ talk, Cyrus! I swear it on my title as Champion!"

A silence. Cyrus stares intently at the land dragon… before his lips tug into the most sorrowful smile which punctures her heart, leaving it an oozing, deflated mess.

"I was right." There's nothing behind that smile. "I'm nothing but a deranged lunatic in your eyes, am I? A crazy, demented, rotten, good-for-nothing _bastard_ that deserves to be locked away for the good of society." By the time that he finished that sentence, the thread-bare blanket had become threads in his trembling grip.

To make matters worse, her heart feels the same way. "N-No, Cyrus!" she wheezes. "T-That's the truth! I'm not lying, I swear—"

"I never said that your words weren't valid." _Arceus that smile…_ "You're the Hero of Sinnoh after all. Don't ever throw away your title like that. Please, continue. "

"Cy—"

"Please. You're wasting time."

Cynthia almost chokes on her spit. She rubs her eyes. Cyrus coughs into his sleeve. The Commanders remain silent like a forest frozen in time.

"Y-Yes. A-And U-U-U—" A slap to the face fixes that stutter. Cyrus frowns, but she dismisses that. "He—Uxie—restored my memories. I know what happened now, before I woke up in Veilstone. I was indeed on the trail of a Time Gear when that traitor came to silence me. Dialga's behind everything—yes, the legendary Guardian of Time, Saturn.

"Something is indeed wrong with the world. Despite the Time Gears being in place, Uxie confirmed that the planet's paralysis has and will continue to spread until time grinds to a halt."

_Exactly as you said, Cyrus._

Silence. Cyrus picks off his eyes from his covered legs. "So a Time Gear was indeed residing within Foggy Forest." Stated flatly, as if he's just an echo in a barren valley. "You should've never told me that, Hero. I might steal it again."

There's nothing in his face to back up that claim. Cynthia breathes through her mouth. "I really need your help, Cyrus." _Please, you have to trust me again._ "I can only rely on you."

Cyrus holds her gaze for a bit before dropping it entirely. "I see. So you trekked back to the fog to regain your lost memories. It must've been a treacherous journey. But your reward is that you were able to interact with the Guardian of Emotion—Knowledge." He rubs his eye. "Mesprit? No, no the Guardian of Crystal Lake…"

"Uxie," Cynthia says softly. "Knowledge. Fogbound Lake."

"I apologize." Cyrus's eyelids are stretched tightly over his eye. He's also squinting at his audience. "Did… Did Mes--Uxie return _all_ your lost memories?"

_He's going somewhere with this. I just have to play my cards right and not expose myself. Yet._ "Uxie only erases memories of Fogbound Lake," she replies.

Cyrus sags against the wall. The sigh escapes like a repressed waterfall, surging from his exhausted chest. His good hand he pressed against his temples, his head he lets fall back to the bed stand.

A great weight had lifted from the air. Cynthia glances back at the remnants of his team. Garchomp whimpers softly to his whispering Pokemon. A Gastly materializes next to Cyrus's side, lingering for a bit before Gyarados chases it away with a snap of giant jaws.

"I have a condition." Upon seeing her expression, Cyrus shakes his head. "I know I promised you earlier, but worry not. Just some simple ground rules. Not intended to give me an advantage over you."

Cynthia swallows the sour lump down her throat. "F-Fine. Cyrus. What is it?"

Another faint smile. "Condition _s_ , if I may amend. Firstly, you don't tell anyone of this place. You insist that you're here on your own violation. I'll take your word on that. In addition, you don’t mention anyone else besides me, as accomplices to crime."

His team starts forward, but he stops them with a hand. "This is strictly a professional relationship between you, the Hero of Sinnoh, and me," he continues, his eyes cold and calculating. "While on the duration of our contract, I expect your full cooperation… and I too, will uphold my end of the bargain."

He tilts his head. "And after this is all over and done, you'll only have me to deal with. Are we clear?"

Cynthia nods. "Clears as bubbles on the beach, Cyrus." His mask falters. Whatever realization that dawned on those faded veils is lost when he abruptly turns away. Cynthia steels her heart and knees. She runs a hand through her hair.

_The business deal of the world, people._

"My apologizes, Hero. I have one more condition."

Cynthia's breath hitches. _Holy Arceus._ Cyrus refuses to look at her. His Pokemon slowly climb back up his bed. To everyone's relief, he lets them infiltrate his prison of ice.

"You will not do anything stupid," he says. "That's my final condition."

Something rekindles within Cynthia's heart. Clouds push away from her memories, and the little girl finally shoves aside the frozen time to emerge at her future self's side. Garchomp gapes at the smiling phantom. Team Galactic bounce their gazes between the two enemies-turned-allies bound by a shaky verbal agreement.

"I also have a condition," Cynthia announces. Cyrus turns to face her. She jabs a finger to his unreadable face, cringing as he flinches ever so slightly. "Don't pull any more stupid stunts."

Cyrus is frowning, but he nods regardless. Whereas he fully understands her implications is unclear, but at this point, she's just glad that he'll be safe.

_That he's alive._

"Thank you so much, Cynthia," Jupiter murmurs. "Oh Arceus thank you…"

"It's okay, Jupiter." Cynthia also flashes a smile to the rest of his despondent team. "Everything will be fine."

Then she turns back to her reluctant partner. With the early light of dawn trickling into the broken glass windows, she feels a strange peace in the air. Bands of brilliance kiss his hair, expelling the eternal darkness cast upon by the Old Chateau. This scene is jarringly familiar. Reminds her of back then, at Veilstone, the last time they had ever talked this intimately.

"Good night, Cy—"

Cyrus calls her title. Cynthia stops. A strange, uncanny coldness brews in her stomach.

"C-Cyrus?" she squeaks. "W-What's wrong?"

"It's not a favor," he says without missing a beat. "Please give me your candid answer, Hero."

Cynthia steadies her stomach. Swallows down her pounding heart. "S-Sure. All right. What's your question, Cyrus?"

Cyrus coughs. It's a much thicker cough than last time, one that rocks his shoulders. Nevertheless, he straightens to match the amber fuzzes that are her eyes.

"I know that I'm still a wanted criminal. After this is all over… after I've expended my use… what will become of me? Will I be imprisoned? Executed?" Cyrus smiles upon her crumbling reaction. Another cough into his fist. A furrow of the brow, and he plants his palm facedown onto the blanket. "I just want to know. That way, I won't be expecting any nasty surprises in the near future."

* * *

That night, the moon is high in the sky again. Round, milky white. A flicker in a sea of sparkling stars.

Cynthia shifts in the bed. The smell of musty herbs had embedded itself into the walls a long time ago. And strangely enough, it doesn't bother her as much as it used to. It's almost… welcoming.

 _"We finally met him."_ Shirona's glowing form pushes away the shadows of the room. _"We met him… but that wasn't him. He's locked himself away in that prison of his heart."_

"We'll keep trying," Cynthia says, gaze flickering to the photograph on the counter. To the pulsating white treasure beside it. "We need to fix our mess. That's the least we can do."

Shirona musters a small smile. _"But… but you never answered him, Cynthia. About the future…"_

Cynthia turns away. Shirona purses her lips, but she doesn't press. Just thinking about the unclear future hurts her head even more. Hurts her already weary chest. The entire ordeal in general is too exhausting to even reflect upon, both mentally and physically taxing.

"We made progress," Cynthia whispers to a wide-eyed Shirona. "Don't give up hope yet. There's still tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow._ Today, Cynthia confronted the man who saved her life back at Foggy Forest. Tomorrow, she'll finally have the courage to confront her childhood friend.


	30. Akagi & Shirona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does the past still matter?

"Oh, welcome back, Miss Cynthia!"

Cynthia flashes a weak but warm smile to the Grunts. They close the door behind her, and they follow her into the heart of the mansion where her next mission awaits.

A shrieking Gastly zooms past her head. Cynthia grimaces. "Why are there so much Gastly? I swear there weren't this many before."

"I've been noticing that too," R-8 huffs, shivering from a sudden chill. "Maybe it's just the time of the day. And the place. Probably the latter. Hopefully the latter."

"Where Gastly breed, danger lurks," B-2 mutters. "I also get the feeling that they're drawn to _him_ specifically… They've been much more active when he finally woke up."

The Commanders perk up when the floorboards creak. Mars waves. "Howdy! Fine day at ye olde haunted mansion, isn't it?"

Despite everything that's happened so far, Cynthia manages to return her smile. "Um. Yeah. Swell." She clears her throat. "So is everything all right?"

"No," Saturn snaps. He yanks the loose hair from his eyes, sighing. "Mas—Bo—Damn it. Boss answers us when we talk to him, but other than that, it's like talking to a damn stranger."

Jupiter lifts her head. Cynthia's eyes widen. _Stress can really change an individual._ "His legs are in really bad shape," the older woman grumbles. "But he's forcing them to work. Is it strange to say that it hurts me more than it does him, watching him do that to himself…?"

"Jupiter…"

"Damn it, how can we just pretend like nothing had happened? As if I've never said those things to his face? And his tears… I can still see that smileeeEEYAAUCK!"

Mars releases her grip. Jupiter's neck cracks as she turns, but before whatever curse can fly from those tightened lips, her expression slackens, and she shakes her head. "Oh. I'm sorry. Thank you, Mars." Mars nods with a small smile. Jupiter runs a hand through her hair. "Damn it. I'm losing my mind in this damn mansion."

"Tell me about it," Saturn mutters. "At night, I hear footsteps. Up there." He points to the floor where staircases do not reach. "A-And I heard _crying_ Arceus I swear I heard someone crying up there."

The Grunts pack a little tighter into each other. Saturn's arms are trembling. "A-A-And I'd feel cold spots throughout the mansion. L-L-L-Like. S-Something's not right here, I tell you. And there's this creepy painting… Arceus I might as well sleep next to the bathroom at night."

The Grunts bob their heads vehemently. "Some doors don't open," R-8 hisses to Cynthia. "And watch your step. We've colored the boards where you shouldn't step on, but still… Look, we've explored only half of the mansion, so we can't guarantee _anything_ if you step beyond the tape in the hallway."

Cynthia happens to rub the back of her neck. Gooseflesh. Her breath appears as a quivering puff of chilly air.

"H-How's Cyrus?" Cynthia whispers. That, and the soliciting Gastly disperse into the air. Team Galactic exchange a glance amongst themselves.

Then Mars spreads her hands. "Well. Um. For starters, right after you left, Boss started hacking out his lungs. It… was terrifying, seeing all that blood on the floor. Um. And it t-took a while for him to s-s-stop too… But he did. Yes. He did stop coughing out blood."

Cynthia can hear her heartbeat thundering from below the floorboards. Could also have been from behind the walls.

Jupiter presses her temples for what seems to be the longest time. "We can't even go to a hospital," she grunts. "The trained Grunts here are doing all they can, but we can only go so far without proper medical equipment. And to top it all off, he keeps saying that he's fine. But right when we turned away, he passed out. Again."

"The fever's gone down," B-2 says softly. "But he hasn't slept. Couldn't. We took turns keeping vigil, keeping the Gastly away, all that stuff… But he'd always wake up in the middle of night. Won't even tell us about his nightmares…"

Saturn scowls into his hands. "It's this damn place." He lips bristle at an approaching Gastly, and it dematerializes on the spot, albeit its laughter lingers in the air. "I swear, it's messing with his mind." He turns to Cynthia. "When I last spied on him, I heard him talking to someone while there was _no one_ in the room!"

The heartbeats grow into a deafening cacophony. Saturn sinks his teeth into his fingernail, a habit that had failed to die. "Arceus Areus we need to get him out of here!"

"But where?" Jupiter snaps. Saturn winces. Her scowl dissipates immediately. "I'm sorry, Saturn. But damn it. It's hopeless. This is the only place that's safe from the damn police… and we're not even sure if it'll remain this way."

Cynthia adverts her eyes. Mars glares at her two Commanders, at everyone in the room, even the nosy Ghost Pokemon. "Don't give up yet, everyone!" she yells. Her voice has gained a rougher edge. "There's still a chance. There's still hope. Miss Cynthia got to him a bit yesterday. And she came back to fix it! Right?"

Cynthia stares back into Mars's golden eyes. The same eyes from not long ago, when they've met at Celestic Town as enemies.

And Cynthia nods. "Yes. I've yet to finish what I started." She grasps the lump in her pocket, fingers lingering on its pulsating surface before releasing it. "May I go in?"

The Commanders glance at each other. B-2 timidly butts in. "You can try? Good luck, Miss Champion."

R-8 creaks open the door. The group peers into the crack of light, squinting until dust and shadows are filtered from the faded blue splotch in the corner of the room.

_Arceus, when did it get so cold in here?_

"What is he _doing?"_ B-2 whispers. Cynthia cranes her neck to get a better view.

 _Tink. Tink._ The sound of muffled impact. _Metal? Wood?_ Something solid hitting against a foam bowl in his hand.

A purple wing slides into vision. Cyrus grimaces as he gingerly scoops a spoonful of cold soup. The liquid splashes down the utensil like the waterfalls of Fogbound Lake. He gnashes his teeth, halting the trembling momentarily until it comes back with renewed vengeance and all the soup spills from the spoon. A nasty self-inflicted curse follows that fiasco. Crobat nudges his arm. Cyrus stares at the Pokemon. Then he sighs. He passes the bowl to Weavile, turning away so the cat can share it amongst its team, even to the frowning Gyarados outside the window.

"The last time I held him, I can feel his ribs." Jupiter had stopped looking a long time ago. She's leaning against a wall, her arms crossed, her head down. Saturn leaves to join her.

"Who's there?"

Everyone freezes. Mars jerks backwards, taking the eavesdropping crowd with her.

"Doc—"

R-8 clamps a hand over B-2's mouth. With a shake of her head, she directs the solicitors back to the crack of the door.

Cyrus is staring at their direction. No. Staring, but not seeing them. Whatever entity is in that spot, his Pokemon see it too.

"Silcoon," B-2 hisses. "Do you see anything?" The cocoon bounces to the door. Then it stiffens, and it launches itself back into his arms. B-2 attempts to coax it down, but the Pokemon had Hardened itself into a crystalline statue.

"Arceus." R-8 shoots a glare to that nonexistent entity. "Arceus, Arceus…"

Cyrus tilts his head. "We've met before?" he says, and every living thing shuts up. Then he frowns. The silence could've been someone talking, as Cyrus has that same look of concentration on his face.

A Haunter materializes above Honchkrow's head. The bird shoots up to its talons, but Cyrus waves it down. He observes the grinning Haunter for what seems to be an eternity.

Then some light of recognition hits that fractured eye. "Oh. You… You're a Haunter now." His Pokemon gape at their Trainer, but Haunter laughs. As if it understands.

Cynthia mouths to the bewildered Commanders. They echo her sentiment. Both return to watching this strange scene unfold.

"You _do_ look familiar," Cyrus is muttering to the air. "I'm sorry. It's all very blurry that I can't… No, I assure you that I'm fine, sir. No, I don't need anything. I'm oka—"

Cyrus stops, the abrupt silence shattering the serene noon air. One hand climbs to his temple. His eye darts around, his brow furrowing… as if he was a lost little boy searching for his mother in a strange mall.

 _"Am_ I okay? Yes, I… No." Barely a whisper, yet Cynthia hears that over the pounding blood in her head. "I… No, _something's_ broken. Too late… fix…" The rest falls to a disconcerting mumble.

"CYRUS!"

Emotion had seized her brain before rationale can reach first. Hands shoot up to pull her back, but Cynthia had sprung from her hiding spot and flung open that door. Cyrus's head snaps up as she freezes in her tracks.

There's a certain look on his face. A deeply unsettling, wide-eyed look of a cornered prey seconds before the predator's claw cuts open its neck.

Cynthia's voice refuses to come. Instead, that bitter, metallic taste grows more and more prevalent until it blurs the line between reality and imagination.

"C-C-Cyrus!" It hurts just to say his name. Hurts her in the chest. "Cyrus! P-Please put your hand down! I'm not going to hurt you, Cyrus! Please l-l-listen to me!"

Cyrus jerks back, slamming his spine into bed stand, sending his Pokemon scrambling to find cover.

 _"Calm down, Cynthia!"_ The girl's voice is stern and gentle. Like an adult's. _"Calm down. Think. You have to be strong, so he can be too."_

 _You're right._ Cynthia takes a deep, deep breath. Her rib cage rattles like wind chimes being grabbed by a blustery gale. She's vaguely aware of the stirring Ghost Pokemon. The heavy presence of Team Galactic behind her back.

Minutes pass— _hours? Days?—_ before time eventually returns to normal when Cyrus puts down his hand.

"Cy…" Weavile gently nudges his arm. Cyrus blinks. "Cy… Champion?"

_Damn it, so close!_ "G-Good afternoon. Cyrus."

"The… Champion of…" Cyrus frowns. "Ah. Yes. We talked yesterday. We made an agreement. And now you're back… because you have more questions, I presume?"

Cynthia exhales through her mouth. "Yes."

"Of course." Cyrus pauses. As if he's listening to something. Cynthia's about to ask when her stomach plunges into her intestines, when the heat from her body shrivels down to the soles of her feet. Hair standing on end as _something_ grazes her arm. Something too solid to be a random draft in this neglected mansion. Too deliberate. _Cree… creee…_ Floorboards creek as if footsteps have indeed left the room.

The Commanders' and Grunts' faces confirm her grim hypothesis. 

"What was that?" Cynthia yelps, but it comes out as a faint scream instead. She happens to brush her fingers over that arm—and feels the hard gooseflesh exploding underneath the fabric.

His Pokemon are gawking at that empty space. Cyrus, though, merely tilts his head. "What do you mean?" he says as he scratches Haunter behind the ears. "That was—" He glances at the Ghost, who snickers before dematerializing into the air. Honchkrow gnashes its beak at that spot, its crimson eyes flashing like burning steel.

Then Cyrus returns her gaze. "That was me talking to myself," he says pleasantly. "I apologize if I've disturbed you."

_Were you really talking to yourself?_ Cynthia stares at the depressed floorboards again. Shivers in the chill of the evening sun. The rest of his team shyly approach their former boss.

"Master Cyrus," Saturn mutters to the blanket. Cyrus twitches. "We… We're really worried about you. Um… if there's anything troubling you… please let us know. We're here for you."

Cyrus takes the bowl back from the silent Weavile. Mars is wringing the helm of her shirt again. "Boss… You haven't been eating. And you haven't slept… all night…"

_"And you're hallucinating,"_ she might've said.

Cyrus digs that spoon into the empty foam bowl. Cynthia tears her gaze back to his team. "Um… do you mind if Cyrus and I speak alone?"

Saturn's eyes narrow. Cynthia braces herself for the furious verbal rejection that never comes. Mars offers a weak smile. The Grunts stare down at their shoes. "Okay." Jupiter's dry-washing the hell out of her hands. "All right, Cynthia. Come on, everyone. Let's—"

"No! Don't le—"

Cyrus stiffens when eyes turn his direction. He immediately ducks his head, jerks it away to the comfort of the shadows. His shoulders are trembling once more.

Jupiter grasps her chest. "Oh. Arceus, no, no. Cyrus, we're not going anywhere. We're right here. We won't leave you alone—"

"No. No." A pathetic attempt to steel his voice. Cyrus shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Disregard me. Listen to the Champion."

"Boss—"

"Leave the Hero and I alone. Please… go away…"

His team doesn’t look too happy at that. A great silence hangs in the air, a miasma so heavy that it presses down upon lungs.

"Fine," Jupiter mumbles. "Fine, we'll listen to you." Before the others can object, she adds, "But we won't abandon you, Cyrus. If you need us… call us. It won't be like last time."

Cynthia freezes when Jupiter's steely eyes fall on her own. "It _won't_ be like last time… will it, Hero of Sinnoh?"

"N-No, ma'am." Last time. The broken windows. Glass on the floor. Helicopters. The dented desk. "No. I promise."

Jupiter huffs. She steals one last look at Cyrus, one last look outside the tranquil forest before ushering her team out the door, quietly closing with a soft _click._

Crobat inches closer. Cyrus slowly lifts his head. The bat utters a faint cry when his hand cups its face. Honchkrow roosts in his lap, Weavile sitting beside the crow while Gyarados keeps a solemn vigil outside.

The harsh afternoon light streams into the windows, casting the room in multicolored shadow. A tepid breeze kisses the thread-bare curtains as wind would do to gossamer.

_He's much paler than before._ Cynthia cautiously approaches the bed. _He was coughing a lot yesterday… Just how much blood did he lose? Arceus, it's just like the first time we talked, after that Operation…_

"I'm sorry." Before she can react, Cyrus fumbles for his Poke balls. The Pokemon stare at him sadly when he returns them to their capsules. The bed had never looked so empty nor devoid of color. "There you are. Now we're alone."

"Cyrus…"

Cyrus glances at the horizon, searching for something she knows quite well. Once he establishes that the trees are just bark and leaves, he straightens and faces her.

"All right then," he says. "What do you wish to know, Hero of Sinnoh?"

* * *

Once the silence is established, Cyrus sets aside his bowl. He places his hand on his lap, face-up, right in the open. She hears the painful breath leaving his lungs before the first word is spoken.

"Is there… Is there a clause in our agreement that you wish to correct?"

Cynthia shakes her head. _Thump-thump_ groans the throbbing walls. "N-No. I… um…" Cyrus simply waits. His expression is almost… serene. Like he's sitting below a shady tree on a cloudless day.

"D-Did you eat yet?" she squeaks.

"Yes."

"D-Did y-y-you sleep well?"

"Yes."

_ARCEUS!_ "D-Did you—" Her voice catches "—Do you feel better?"

"You didn't come all the way back here just to ask that. Just tell me what you need to know, Champion."

Cynthia squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, Cyrus is still there, his hand visible, his face set in a cold, empty frown.

"Your… your goal." At that, Cyrus's mask falters. Cynthia forces her chin high. "You… you wanted to reset the world. Why?"

Cyrus tilts his head. "Because I deemed the human spirit to needless and incomplete… so I was willing to endanger everyone and everything to pursue my mad ambition."

He's staring straight at her as he speaks. Cynthia reminds herself to breathe. "But… but why?"

Cyrus's brow furrows. "Because I'm the villain, and that's what villains do, Hero. I thought we've established this already."

_Calm down, Cynthia._ Cynthia grips her fists. "But… but was there another reason _why_ you would choose that path?"

_What happened to you, Cyrus? What made you this way? What changed?_

Cyrus is squinting at her, as if he'd misheard. Cynthia clasps her lips. Silence stretches again, spiraling beyond this room into the infinite skies.

Then Cyrus sighs. "That's… that's a strange demand. I don't know how this can help your case, but I'll humor you, since you've gone through all the trouble." Their gazes connect, and Cynthia isn't pulling away any time soon.

So Cyrus begins. "I… I found beauty in machinery, starting from a young age. Machines had fixed behaviors… predictable behaviors. Easy to understand in that they either work or fail. No ambiguity, unlike this thing called spirit.

"And… And I had this goal in my head. I once thought that I could make the world a better place…" He drops his gaze into his hand. "You can laugh if you want."

"No," Cynthia whispers. The faint smell of coarse sand grazes her nostrils. The dry wind of the night tugs at her hair. And the phantom touch in her palm, of another hand… "Please, continue, Cyrus."

A pause. "All right. I was young and naïve, just like any child that age. I believed that I could fix what was wrong with the world. That I could make a difference. But that goal was eventually distorted when… when…" He looks away. Cynthia releases her fist. 

"I digress. The problem of suffering… of pain… of happiness, love… of these vacuous sentimentality stemmed from my incomplete spirit. Emotions that bring nothing but pain in the end. I wanted to rid these needless things so the world could be more efficient. More… complete. I thought I could fix it if I tried…"

His voice then drops with his head. "But I failed. The world didn't need to be fixed. The world never needed me. What truly needed to be fixed before anything else… what was truly broken was… was…"

Cyrus is glaring at his hand. At the arm cast. At the bumps under the blanket that are his legs. The trembling returns, as well as the uneven breathing. "Still yet to be fixed," he murmurs. "Although it's too late for repairs now. This thing was doomed to _fail_ from the start…"

"Cyrus…" Was that her voice?

Cyrus looks up. He's smiling. "I apologize. That wasn't… what you had hoped to hear. It's not important anyhow.

"Now then. What's the real reason in your coming here?"

There's a funny numbness in her brain. A strange tingling in her chin. Cynthia realizes that she's been rubbing the area above her heart during his speech. It's bruised now. It aches. It aches so much.

"Fine." Cynthia exhales until all the fear, all the hesitation leaves her body. _This is it._ Focusing on the warmth in her pocket, Cynthia lifts her head to face him squarely in the eye.

"Cyrus," she says. "What did you mean by what you said at Crystal Cave?"

"Crystal… Cave…? I've said much at that place." Cyrus's brows scrunches. His good hand lifts to clasp his temples, but he scowls and lets it fall back on his lap.

Cynthia takes a tentative step forward. "Focus," Cyrus snaps before she can even say anything. His chest heaves with a breath. "At Crystal Cave. Is it about Mesprit? About what it said?"

"No—Wait, what do you mean? Mesprit never said anything."

"Yes, it…" Cyrus's eye widens. _Is he talking about Uxie instead?_ "Oh. N-No You mean… ah. The Crystal Puzzle. Crystal Cave, where you found the Time Gear. Yes, yes, I remember. Your mission was a success." He's nodding as he speaks. "I'm sorry. What were you saying, Champion?"

The shadows under his eyes swallow the rest of his face. A sudden sense of revulsion overwhelms her, but Cynthia forcibly keeps it down.

_"See?"_ that dreadfully familiar voice growls. The voice Cynthia had chosen to banish a long, long time ago. And now it's back, clearer and louder than ever before. _"He's crazy. Do you really want to place the fate of the entire world into the hands of a nihilistic freak with cheese for brains?"_

 _"Be quiet!"_ Shirona snarls. The Hero of Sinnoh scowls. _"Go away! Leave us alone!"_

Cyrus is waiting patiently. He could've been sleeping, with that upturned tug of his lips. Cynthia takes a greedy gulp of stale mansion air. "Back at Crystal Cave," she says. "You said that the reason you've been helping me… was because we were friends."

Whatever remaining light dies from Cyrus's eye. His chest caves in, but he catches himself and instantly deploys his shields. "You came here just for _that?"_ There's an edge in that flat, impassive tone. "I'd expect you to have more pressing questions, Hero."

"This _is_ important!" If he was just another rotten criminal, another problem for her to handle, she would've never came back in the first place. If he truly didn't matter, she would've been content to let him rot. She would've slammed her palms on that table, spat in his face, and tossed him back into that hole once he'd expended his use.

That was then. This is now. Things have changed.

Cynthia drops her voice. "Cyrus, please. This is very important to me."

Cyrus's fingers curl inwards until his entire fist is trembling. "Did you really take what a _monster_ said at face value?" His voice is dangerously low. "This manipulative bastard's words? This pathological liar's claims? You're better than that, Hero!"

Cynthia jabs an angry finger in his face. "But you--! You gave me your word, cri—"

_"No, NO, Cynthia! Don't let her win!"_

"—Cyrus! You said so yourself!"

"My word means _nothing,_ and everyone knows that!"

"NO! Your promised! You said—"

"Promises are nothing but hot air misconstrued by a weak and lacking heart! Did you really believe that vows uttered in empty words were meant to be kept! You know full well of who I am, Hero! You know full well of the lengths I'd go to manipulate your emotions!

"You should've moved on with your life! Why dwell on this… this stupid sentimental nonsense from someone who's not even worth your time!"

Cyrus's chest is pulsing like a beating organ. He's clutching at himself, as if to contain everything in his stomach. Cynthia's covering her mouth. All the saliva had dried up long ago.

"Cyrus…" she croaks.

Cyrus jerks his head to the side. "No… think about it, Champion." The wind itself is speaking now. "The… The _Hero_ of Sinnoh… _friends_ with her enemy? The Enemy of the people… Public Enemy Number One… The very villain that you've apprehended…"

A faint laugh escapes his throat. It sounds like an anguished cry instead. Cyrus turns, sees the look on her face, and that smile touches his lips again.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, rubbing the heel of his palm against his chest. "I didn't mean to raise my voice. I stepped out of line…"

Cynthia doesn't reply. She can't. Cyrus lets the silence answer him before uttering a shaky inhale. "Do you happen to remember the moment when I said that? Champion?" He chuckles at Cynthia's nonverbal response. "Before the authorities led me away… do you remember that emotion on your face?

"Well… I do." He's talking to his legs now. "You looked at me as through I was lower than the scum at the bottom of the sea. As if I was worse than the lowliest of criminals… more revolting than the most despised article of trash. As if I was a perversion of everything right and just with the world."

Cynthia frowns… and her hands fly to her mouth when memory strikes her brain like a lightning bolt. Her knees buckle, and then she's staggering back until wood jabs between her shoulder blades, sending a dull throbbing to her currently thrashing heart.

She would've forgotten completely if he hadn't brought it up.

Cyrus sighs. He shifts, and sunlight catches in the whiteness of his hair. "Do remember the type of person that I am, Miss Hero of Sinnoh. I'm the cunning, manipulative, emotionally-devoid leader of an evil cult who came close to inciting the planet's paralysis. I doubt that you would ever want to be friends with someone like that."

Cyrus smiles. Cynthia flinches so hard that for a long, agonizing moment, all she sees is red. Red flowers slithering across her vision like crimson rivulets. "My definition of 'friend' is different from any other sane person on earth." That voice trickles in and out of earshot like the frozen air in the Floaroma Town. Chilling finality. "There was, is, and will be nothing between you and me, Champion Cynthia.

"I'm the Villain. You're the Hero. We will never see eye to eye."

A small whimper struggles from Cynthia's throat. Her hands are pressed against her face, her shields quivering before that person just beyond arm's reach.

_Is it true? Wait. Maybe… maybe he's right. Him and I are as different as night and day. Those memories… were they even real? Were they even mine to begin with?_

 _"He manipulated your memories,"_ the Champion purrs. Her transparent hand grabs Cynthia's wrist. _"He put suggestions in your head, lured you to the clues like a wild Farfetch'd chase. And the brain created what it believed to be true. That's what psychopaths do, Cynthia. Come. Let's do the right thing."_

_"No, stop!" Whose voice did that belong to? I don't recognize that girl… "No, that's not… we actually… it's real…"_

_"I'm the one that's real, Cynthia. I'm the manifestation of all your dedication to get to where you are now. You remember, right?"_ The Champion's presence is bright. Almost as if she's a physical entity. _Is she?_ A faint shriek rings in the background, but the Champion silences those unnecessary noises with a wave of the hand.

_"Now then, Cynthia. One more pest to eliminate. We don't owe this freak anything--yes, it's all his fault. Now, turn around. We'll let Looker know, do our job, and finally put an end to this tragic story."_

The Champion's lips twist. _"Yes. Everything will return to normal. Time will no longer stand still. Now—"_ Then her eyes harden. Springs shift. Floorboards creak. _"Well, well. I knew you were lying about your legs. You think we'll fall for your tricks again, you manipulative freak—"_

The words die in her throat upon sight of that dusty napkin. Of that outstretched, quivering hand. Brown earth sees blue skies, and for a moment, in that heartbeat of time, the peeling walls of the Old Chateau recede away to a field of golden sands, nestled within the cavern walls with writings from the stumps of chalk in little hands.

His legs can't be seen. Rather… they're enveloped by a shifting mass of darkness—no. Gastly. Gastly and Haunter swirling around his limbs, their ghostly energies somehow keeping him upright.

He's hanging on by the thinnest thread of consciousness. His cast he presses against the wall, the other hand extending the napkin. Now that he's on his feet… she sees just how much the clothes are hanging off his body. Just how frail this man, this former CEO, the untouchable leader of the ambitious Team Galactic, really is.

Cyrus's lips unlatch. Whatever color that's left had completely drained from his face. "I'm… I'm sorry. This… this is clean, I assure you." He shuts his eyes, brows furrowing like a folded bridge. Beads of perspiration trickle down the creases of his skin. "I… You… I'm sorry."

And that's when Cynthia points to the Champion's face. The latter scowls, reaching to rub her eyes to see the shimmering moisture on her hands.

The Champion freezes. Cyrus flinches. The napkin slips from his grasp. He stares as it falls, his face contorting as a slew of verbal assaults hiss from his clenched teeth. Insults that never should see the light of day, nor be directed to a human in general.

"Cyrus…" _Who said that? Which one of me said that?_

"I'm sorry." His voice is slurred. Like dense fog. His breathes are quicker, deeper. "I… I didn't mean to… I wasn't thinking… I… I'm sorry. I'll throw it away."

Then he's fumbling for the napkin. The Ghosts gently ease him down, but his movements remain jerky, abrupt like a marionette on broken strings.

But just as he reaches the paper, he freezes. A small hand lays over his. Cyrus blinks. He blinks again, slowly lifting his gaze from the floor to the smiling girl.

_"Cyrus,"_ Shirona says. His breathing hitches. He stares as she picks up that napkin, holding it tightly against her chin. _"Oh… Cyrus…"_

The cheap linen smells like dust. Like… sand. The ever so faint aroma of sweet coconuts. The Champion stares at the napkin. Wordlessly she dabs it to her eyes, watching as the surface darkens with tears. Watches without the usual bitter sentiment.

Then her cheeks burn. Then she's hiding her face into her hands, into the gift that he had offered.

The room grows brighter. A warm, buttery brightness. Darkness retreats into the back of her mind, doubt vanish into the river of oblivion. The past blooms into color—vivid, striking colors that overlap with the present reality.

And then it's just the two of them. Just Cynthia and Cyrus. As it had always been.

Cynthia looks at him in the eyes. "Cyrus," she says softly. Pronounces his name as clearly as her shaking voice can allow. He stiffens. "Cyrus, I know you're not telling me everything. There's a reason you said as you did, right? I'm listening. I want to hear your side of the story."

Cyrus is very, very still. He glances around the empty room. Then he's back, now with the blankest of stares that she'd ever seen.

Gastly chirps. Cyrus looks down to see his feet shuffling back on their own. The Ghosts gently ease him back on the bed, and he almost collapses upon contact. Cynthia gravitates to his body. The grimace remains on his face, but he manages to lift his head. Manages to maintain eye contact.

"What I'm about to tell you… you can dismiss it any time." He coughs. His shoulders tremble. "You… You don't have to listen. Tell me when you've had enough, and I'll shut up."

Cynthia nods. Cyrus closes his eyes. A slight wind parts his hair, revealing the bandages around his head, pulling the perspiration down his cheeks. His chest rises and falls… his breathing becoming deeper and longer… and he could've been sleeping if he hadn't opened his mouth.

"You and I…. We've indeed met as children." His words are almost drowned out by her noisy heart. Cyrus absently reaches for his foam bowl. "It was happenstance, our meeting. Rather uneventful to you, but to me…I… no, never mind."

Cynthia swallows her saliva. Twice. "Where… where did we meet, Cyrus?"

"It was at one of the caves at Sunyshore, Champion Cynthia. Near its beaches." Beyond the broken window, the evening sun hangs low in the horizon. Fiery orange light climbs up the faded walls. Cyrus traces a pattern into the tattered blanket. "I was minding my own business when you happened to interact with me."

Cynthia turns to see Shirona. The girl has her knuckles pressed against her lips. Beside her is the Champion, whose face remains hidden in that napkin.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing important." His tracing reminds her of the drawings in that mound of sand. She remembers those scars. Callouses. Galaxy-themed bandages. "You must've been bored out of your mind to even speak to this nobody in the cave," Cyrus continues. "You came with your friends. And for some strange, absurd reason, you chose to speak to me instead."

He gauges her reaction before returning to the bowl in his hand. "Then we talked. About irrelevant stuff. We met occasionally… as you often returned to Sunyshore for the summer.

"You lent me your time, and I abused that privilege." Cynthia looks away. "Fortunately, you realized what I was doing and left. That's all."

"It's not worth remembering." Cyrus notices the uneven strap in his arm sling and proceeds to fix that. "I apologize if you've lost sleep because of what I've said. I should've known better. I'm sorry.

"All in all, our time together was too brief to have been anything… notable." A small smile. "Don't dwell on it too much, Champion. You were destined for so much more than to humor a pathetic child whose only company were machines and Pokemon. And you've made the right choice in leaving: Now you're the strongest Trainer in all of Sinnoh, both in battle prowess and inner strength."

Cyrus leans away. "Oh. I'm… I'm sorry." He gropes around for another napkin. "I… I understand that it might be upsetting to… to have… I'm sorry. Your reputation won't be tarnished, I assure you. I'll take the secret with me to the grave. You can at least trust me on that…

"Ah. A-And you shouldn't be crying in my company. It's… it's not… right." He shifts, proceeding to angle his body to the side of the bed.

But Cynthia comes over to accept his gift before he tests his protesting legs again. Hot fingers brush against ice—and he yanks back before she could burn him to cinders.

"I'm sorry."

Cyrus gasps. "No. No, Hero." He attempts to straighten. "No, you have nothing to apologize for. Wash your hands after this. I'm the one at the fault here."

_"I'm always the one at fault here,"_ she hears.

Cyrus exhales sharply. Sounds like something's stuck in his lungs. "And… I know an apology won't bring back the time that you've wasted on me. I can't fix that, nor can I offer you appropriate restitution… but... but know that I'll fully cooperate with your demands. I'll help you save your world, and all the memories, people, and things you hold dear to your heart, Champion."

That's stated with utmost conviction. Even the Champion isn't voicing her suspicions. Shirona hasn't spoken. Cyrus is staring straight at the three of them… although it's unclear which version of her that he's actually seeing right now.

As she holds the napkin to her face, a small whisper floats into the dusty air. "But were we really friends?"

Cyrus frowns. He rips his glare to his bandaged legs, shadows rippling with each harsh movement. "No." He coughs into his fist. "No, I said that _I_ considered you my f… fri… No. I never said that it was a mutual relationship."

Shirona stumbles back as if she'd been shot in the heart. Cyrus looks past the horrified girl to the wide-eyed Champion of Sinnoh.

"Believe it or not, I once had the foolish notion that you could've been my… my… my friend." He blanches at that word. Cynthia can taste her pungent shame. "It was merely a superficial, insignificant interaction bred of morbid curiosity. I… I knew that I didn't belong anywhere. So back then, I was desperate to label anything that talked to me a… a friend."

His arms are vibrating now, taking her world along with them. Cyrus sighs. "And that's the truth about our past. We can close that chapter for good." Stated with cold finality, despite his fading voice. "Now, if you're not sick of me yet, I'll answer your original question." He sees her reaction.

"The question of why I helped you, Champion Cynthia," he explains softly. "I merely owed you a favor. I at least have some dignity to repay you for everything that you've done."

Cynthia finds herself staring at him now. Just… staring at this man and the story that he'd just revealed. There wasn't a shred of lie… but it wasn't the complete truth either.

_If the past still mattered…_

"Did you keep waiting for me?" Cynthia's neck snaps up at her voice. Cynthia bites her lips to control the trembling. "After I left… did you… wait for me to come back?"

Cyrus is pushing the air around in his bowl. The evening light had saturated to a violet, star-studded curtain. Patchy radiance slips through the glass, washing the two silhouettes in white.

"Not everyone is worth waiting for," Cyrus whispers, his words muffled by moonlight. He's talking to her, but at the same time also speaking to someone else. In the cool, pleasant air of the forest at night, reality feels like an illusion.

Cynthia digs into her pockets. "D-Do you know what this is, Cyrus?"

The brilliance catches on her treasure. Cyrus frowns. "Your White Moonstone," he states flatly. "You told me. Back at Valor Lakefront."

"Yes…" That memory leaves a salty tang on her tongue. "Remember about that boy whom I told you about? Before I left to be a Pokemon Trainer, I knew him from the summers that we've played together. He was kind, intelligent… could build anything out of nothing… and he always listened to my problems.

"He gave me the confidence to embark on my dream, Cyrus. And that's exactly what I did. I left without so much as a measly goodbye. I never thanked him for everything that he did. I was young and naïve… and I took him for granted."

Cynthia pauses. It's deadly silent beyond the golden partition. **_DING!_** the grandfather clock moans from somewhere in the mansion. The Ghosts have stopped whispering.

"I see." There's nothing in that monotone.

Cynthia inhales a deep whiff of moonlight. "We were playing outside a bit later than usual, just before the sun set, when we found them. Our treasures. A pair of strange evolutionary stones at our rendezvous, the Beach Cave.

" Right away, I knew that they were special. The White Moonstone has this peculiar inscription. We, the boy and I, formed an exploration team to uncover its mysteries. We named it 'Akatsuki,' because that's also when the sun and moon finally meet.

"When I was at Foggy Forest—Professor Rowan and Dia were with me too—we came across two statues of mythical Pokemon. My White Moonstone fit into the Kyogre statue, but the Groudon statue required something that looked suspiciously like a Sunstone… In fact, when we arrived at Fogbound Lake, Uxie told me that the Moonstone was one of the two keys to unlocking a treasure as grand as time."

Cynthia peers at him from behind the pulsating inscription. "Do you know what the other key looks like, Cyrus?"

"No."

"It was the Red Sunstone, Cyrus. The counterpart to my White Moonstone. The complement to my name in the ancient Sinnoan language… Shirona. Cynthia, as in the moon." She purses her lips. "Cyrus. As in the sun, right?"

A harsh inhale shatters the peaceful silence of night. Outside the branches rustle, leaves swirling, swarming to cover the moon.

"T-That's… that's pure coincidence." The foam bowl is shaking. Another exhale. The world is still again. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't… This is not a game, Hero. If you're done here, then I suggest you return to your family and friends."

Cynthia glares at him. "Cyrus." She puts full emphasis on his name. "You know a lot about myths and legends. Do you know anything about the Red Sunstone?"

Cyrus's breathing has accelerated again. Cynthia cringes, but she remains strong. _It's too late to back out now._

"I'm sorry," he replies. "I don't know of anything that you're asking me. We've met as children, yes, but that was it. Happenstance." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. You have the wrong person, Champion Cynthia." 

Cynthia sighs. "Aw. I really thought that you knew something about the relics. Sorry, Cyrus." She pockets her treasure. Cyrus exhales quietly through his teeth. "I'm so close to recovering all my childhood memories. Do you mind also helping me on that, Cyrus?"

She waits. Cyrus's fingers are drumming idly down his cast. His head is tilted so hair covers his eyes.

"I'll see what I can do," he mumbles eventually. "Just don't expect much from me."

Cynthia smiles. He shifts away. "Great. Thank you, Cyrus. I'll be going now, so rest up."

Cyrus nods. Cynthia approaches the door. _Huh. Wasn't it closed?_ Her hand grasps the knob. She turns around.

"Good night… Akagi."

The foam bowl slips from his grip and clatters to the floor. Cyrus blinks. And blinks again. He's staring at the fallen bowl as if he fails to see it, despite the jarring white contrast against the inky darkness. Then he gasps. He yanks his head back to face her, and that’s when the surge of emotion almost sweeps her off her feet.

"A… Akagi!" Shirona states with deliberate harshness. "Akagi, it's me! You've changed so much… We've both changed. It's been… almost a decade since I've seen you again…"

She bends to pick the bowl off the floor. "Who would've thought that we'd meet again as enemies at Celestic Town?" Cynthia says. "Who would've thought that our paths would cross once more at Foggy Forest? Who would've thought that we'd part once more at Veilstone?"

"You remembered," the Champion says, her head slightly bowed. "All the things that I've cast aside, you held it close to your heart." She holds the dusty napkin to her bosom. "Now that I've remembered everything… After everything that's happened, what do I even say?"

Cyrus had backed himself into the corner, the thin blanket acting as a futile shield. Cynthia swipes the wall aside, letting the moon's radiance spill into the room, so she can finally search for sun within those faded blue skies.

 _What's that?_ A light. A slow, flickering flame within those murky expanses of blue. A beacon, blinking briefly before the howling blizzard extinguishes the sign of life.

"We're done for today," Cyrus snaps, thrusting a hand across the air. Cynthia stumbles back. He's glaring at her now. Just like before. "Leave. I've enough of this sentimental nonsense."

"Aka—"

"Leave. Now." There's a tightness in his posture. A vein pulsing under his eye.

"No, please listen—"

"I can take whatever accusations you throw at me, but this is crossing the line! Why can't you just—"

 _"—leave me alone?!"_ Another voice finishes, cutting into the man's deep timbre. _"I get it! You hate me! You've made that perfectly clear! I made sure never to get in your way again; I left you alone, Shirona! I gave you exactly what you wanted! So why did you come back? How could you just return as if nothing had happened, just to further torment me?!!"_

The world jars back to the present. Cyrus is panting, his chest heaving and caving inwards, but that's not stopping him from coldly shutting down each and every one of her protests.

"We have nothing more to discuss!" Cyrus snarls. Cynthia hits the door before she knows it. If it wasn't for his being bound to the bed, he would've been towering over her by now. With his hands behind his back. With his signature frown that kills before it maims. "Leave—ack! Please… hah… please leave… ACK!"

Then he's coughing. Coughing that turns into violent hacking. Wheezing as something solid grates in his throat, tugging at his organs before it's forcibly expelled from his mouth. A brutal choke robs the wind from her back. Cynthia falls backwards, slamming into the opened door, falling back into the hallway.

And his team is right there, staring down at her with opened mouths. Cynthia gasps. She fumbles for ground and bolts it out the heavy oak doors. She almost trips over the doorway as she staggers into the tranquil world of Eternal Forest.

The Old Chateau looms beyond the trees. Shadows squirm in the highest window, muffled cries slicing through the Kricketunes' songs as the moon hangs over the highest pinnacle of the mansion.

Cynthia rubs her eyes. Rubs them until the glittering stars fall to the ground, mingling into the trail of constellations at her heels. She happens to look down at her palms.

Somewhere along the way, she had dropped the napkin that he'd offered her.


	31. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus gets visitors. Grandchildren receive pep talk. What does it mean to be a hero?

**_TICK. TOCK._**

 _Where am I? It's dark. It's cold. I can't breathe._ Shifting masses slither by his ankles. Teeth clamping around his wrists, dragging him down, down into murky depths.

**_TICK. TOCK._**

Papers. Notes and diagrams strewn across his desk. _Did I fall asleep again? How improper._ He had just begun to stand when the back of his neck prickles. _Must've slept on a nerve._ A curious hand reveals a hole in his flesh surrounding by a blotch of clumping blood.

Primal instinct forces him to call out. He takes a step, and his world comes crumbling down. He calls their names again and again as glass drags itself down his throat, as the windows explode, as helicopter blades slice through the air, and a volley of hissing lightning pierces through his core. His skull meets wood, and all goes black.

**_TICK. TOCK._**

 ** _BAM!_** His eyes snap open to the cacaphony of fists against a linoleum table. **_BAM! BAM!_** Warm liquid oozes from his ears, seeping down to stain his already ruined uniform. Each pounding ignites another firecracker in his exhausted chest. _Please stop— **BAM! BAM!** —I've already told you all I know. What else do you do you— **BAM!**_ Again and again, now accompanied with scathing words until flowers drown the sterile white room in odious red.

_Red? White? Color?_

_**TICK. TOCK.**_

**_BOOM!_** Thunder smashes his skull, inviting frigid rain to fill his head. Droplets fall and fall until the flood gushes from his stomach. Needles of lightning fly into his skin, tearing upwards until his vocal chords snap.

_Please stop. It hurts. It hurts so MUCH PLEASE STOP!_ A mistake sends him tumbling down the cliff. Back he falls, into the choppy sea. Powerful torrents surge into his nostrils, into his open mouth, silencing those pathetic bubbles before they even reach the surface.

The pain is the last thing he remembers before all dissolves into nothingness.

* * *

**_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._**

It's dry. _Land?_ It's bright. _Fire?_ Eyes slowly creaking open to be burned by dazzling light. So blinding in fact, that when he moves, dust motes bounce to the air.

With a shaky inhale of forest pollen, Cyrus pulls himself up, only to collapse again. He drags his hand across his forehead, frowning when he pulls back cold sweat.

**_Tick. Tock._** A grandfather clock chimes from somewhere in the hallways. _So loud…_ He squints at the blurry light. "What time is it?" he croaks to no one in particular.

"It's time for you to rest, Cyrus."

Cyrus gasps. _No, no, wake up. Wake up, you useless fool._ He shakes his head, feeling his brain sloshing against his skull. _There's no time for your insanity._

"Cyrus, what are you doing?" A shadow shifts in the thickening haze. Footsteps press against floorboards, the wood groaning with weight. Cyrus slams his back against the wall, his pounding heart drowning the indignant shrieks of his muscles.

"Cyrus—"

"You're not real," Cyrus whispers, repeating it until he can believe his own words. "You're not real. I'm hallucinating again. I’m hallucinating…"

"Cyrus, stop that!" His stomach churns at that voice, and everything that he'd locked away threatens to resurface: glimmering stars on a cloudless night, waves crashing outside the window… A crackling fire and the smell of worn, yellowed pages.

"I-I'm losing it again. I'm going crazy. Another raving lunatic that deserves to…" Cyrus can't feel his arms. He can't even grasp the window lock. _Ah. There, that board hasn't been nailed in properly—_

Those hands stop him before he can bash himself back into unconsciousness. Blood is boiling in his lungs, the steam reaching to his nostrils. Out of sheer, morbid curiosity, Cyrus lifts his gaze.

As usual, that was a mistake.

"Cyrus!" Those solemn eyes bear into his soul, breaking through his many walls to the locked chamber to around his heart. Now that distance is arbitrary, Cyrus realizes just how _real_ the grip is. _So tight._ And the smell… old wool from a tweed jacket that hasn't aged from his memories.

"Cyrus," the old man snaps. "Look at me." Cyrus yanks at the blanket. "No, don't hide your face! Look at me, son. It's me—"

"NO! No, stop it! Don't say that!"

"Cyrus—"

"No, it's not funny anymore! I know that I’m crazy, but please… please stop messing with me! I don't care what you do, but don't use his face! Don't copy his voice! Don't pretend like he's still—"

Those words die when the old man brings Cyrus into his arms, into that tweed jacket, with its scents of old books and chicken soup, of warm nights under a shining moon.

"N-No…" _This is not real. This… isn't…real…_ "Y-You have the wrong p-p-person. I'm a c-criminal now. I'm a m-monster. I'm not… I'm not your…."

"You're my grandson," Grandfather says with enough conviction for it to be true. "You were, are, and will always be my precious little grandson."

And Cyrus's mask crumbles into the earth. He sinks into the old man's arms, regardless of this being a tasteless prank at his expense. His grandfather still hasn't let go yet. _Is it he not disgusted with me? Doesn't he hate me?_ The shoulder hasn't moved. _I'm defiling your sleeve. I’m abusing my privilege._

_Why haven't you punished me yet?_

"Let it out, Cyrus," Grandfather murmurs. "I'm right here. I won't go anywhere."

By the time that Cyrus can function again, Grandfather's sleeve is soaked. The old man removes his jacket and resumes his place on the bedside, much to his grandson's surprise.

Cyrus brings the blanket to his face. "I'm sorry. I ruined your jacket."

"Stop apologizing for every single thing." Grandfather's eyes crinkle. "I told you that I was real, Cyrus, see?" He pats his damp shirt, and Cyrus's cheeks burn with shame. "Flesh and bones, right here."

_It… certainly does sound like it…_ Cyrus stares at the old man until his eyes water. He reaches a tentative hand, only to yank it back. "But… but how…?"

Grandfather gestures to the faded walls. "The Old Chateau is a special place, Cyrus. I thought things like these only existed in the pages of a novel, but alas… Well. Needless to say, to have actually experienced it myself is another thing entirely." He raps his knuckles against the wall. _Clunk. Clunk._ "How can I explain this…? Think of a threshold, Cyrus. Once you cross the line, you're here, on the other side."

Cyrus blinks. Grandfather chuckles. "But you know more about it than I do, right?" _It. The Old Chateau._ "How else are you here in the first place?"

Memory evades him. Reviving those foggy chunks hurts his head. Rain. Thunder. Lightning… the hum of a motor… and painful, scathing words.

"Cyrus." Then he realizes that he's shaking, even though the room isn't cold. The urge to throw up, to expel all these unpleasant, **ugly** emotions have never felt so mandatory.

Grandfather steadies his grandson before the latter can further abuse his weakened stomach. Those sickeningly kind eyes rake across his face, darting to the bandages, the arm cast, the unmoving bumps under the thin blanket.

Cyrus makes himself very small. "Why did you come back, Grandfather?" he whispers, blinking hard. _Why did you come back when I'm broken beyond repair?_

 _**Tick. Tock.**_ It's unbearably hot. _It must be… afternoon? Evening?_ Harsh light and shadow are mingling within this lonely little room.

Silence. The ringing in his ears incites a bitter wave of vertigo. Crushing gravity presses against his neck.

Then Cyrus drops his head. "I'm so tired, Grandfather," he mumbles. "The world wants me imprisoned. The police want my head on a pike. Everyone I know is endangered b-because of me. A-And they can't go anywhere b-because they have nowhere else to g-go… It's all my fault, Grandfather. All of it. I-I ruined everything, a-a-and I can't fix it. I can't fix it… I can't fix anything…"

_Will it be better if I just surrender?_

Springs shift. A shadow falls over the closing chasm. A hand on his shoulder, and for once, Cyrus welcomes it. He slumps onto Grandfather's chest, and his façade can only be strong for so long until the bulging dam comes crashing down.

Grandfather does nothing but listen. Listens as his grandson falls apart before his eyes.

"The Hero?" Grandfather echoes at one point in time. Cyrus bobs his head. The old man's brows scrunch. "Who's—oh." The wanted poster is peeking out from under the pillow. Grandfather sees the emotion on his grandson's face, and whatever words that were about to leave die on his lips.

"I b-betrayed them," Cyrus murmurs, gasping as his breaths deepen. "T-T-They should've left. I knew this day would c-come, but nothing went as planned. I-I'm scared, Grandfather. I…hah… I don't know… hah… what they'll do—ACK!"

When light returns to his world, there are stark splotches on those clean bandages. Another wheeze, and filth rains down on the blanket. The metallic taste arrests his five senses, bringing with it sporadic spasms that knocks his consciousness between black and white.

"…rus! Cy… Cyrus!" Something grips his hand. Another hack rips from his throat. "Cyrus, stay with me! Here. Here, use the napkin."

Cyrus grips the paper until his knuckles bleed. "Grandfather…" He has the old man's undivided attention. And he doesn’t know what to make of it. "Grandfather, what's _wrong_ with me?"

"Nothing, son," is the immediate answer. "Nothing's wrong with you. You just need some time to heal, that's all. After that stupid, _stupid_ stunt that you pulled…"

A cough shudders his body. "I'm sorry…"

"No, Cyrus, don't— No. I'm just glad that you're here now. You must be parched."

"I'm… hah… fine, Grandfather."

Grandfather frowns, and his grandson looks away. After a long, stern coaxing, Cyrus finally agrees to lie down. His head automatically sinks into the pillow. The old man looms over him, pinning the grandson down with a fierce glare.

_It's just like back then, when summer fever came around…_

When Grandfather deems that Cyrus won't be coughing his lungs out any time soon, he speaks. "What do they mean to you, Cyrus?"

 _Them._ A quiet, urgent voice whispers in his ear. Tells him to stop working and go to sleep or else. Another voice reminding him to eat. One more steering him away from the canned food aisle.

Cyrus shoves those needless burdens behind the door. "They're just my—" He clears his throat, secretly expelling a wad of fluid in the process. "They were my subordinates. We were bound by a professional business relationship before I dissolved it."

Grandfather waits for specification that never comes.

"Is that all, Cyrus?"

"Yes," he almost comes close to snapping and silently berates himself for it.

A pause. **_Tick. Tock._** A sharp intake of breath.

"They've been there for you much longer than I have, haven't they?" Cyrus almost misses the man's words when his heart drops to his stomach. "But the things they said to you that night, Cyrus… was it really _their_ words?" _The clock is so loud._ "Or did _you_ put words into their mouths?"

There is an earthquake in the room. "Stop…"

"Answer my question, Cyrus." The sternness in Grandfather's voice is all too painfully familiar. Cyrus fights back the impulse to flee and hide.

_I'm not a child anymore._

"I was to blame for their misfortune, Grandfather," he growls to his pillow. "I know that I was also at fault, regardless of the things I couldn't control. I roped them into this mess. But… but when I gave them the chance to start over, they refused."

"And why do you think that is, Cyrus?"

 _"Revenge,"_ is the first answer that comes to mind. But it stays in his throat. _What are you doing? Just answer the question. You're not mute. You're testing Grandfather's patience._

"Give it some thought, Cyrus," Grandfather murmurs, and the ringing subsides. "See the truth for what it is. Don't be scared."

"But…" _But what other fitting reason can there be?_

Grandfather gives him a particular look. "You're still asking me?" Cyrus's brow furrows, and he turns away before anything else can betray his broken mask.

 ** _Tick. Tock._** The song of a defective clock fills the halls. A pleasant breeze grazes against his burning cheeks. Grandfather's weathered hands rests on his forehead, and the dilapidated walls of the Old Chateau recede to baby blue— _it was blue, right?—_ wallpaper of sailboats bouncing about painted waves.

 _"Bouncy bouncy Magikarp,"_ Grandfather is humming. _"Be quick, but don't hurry. Home is just beyond the sunset…"_

**_Tick. Ding! Ding! Tock._ **

"Gra… Grandfather." It's suddenly very difficult to speak. To keep his focus on a fixed point in time. The pillow is dangerously soft. The blanket is horrifyingly warm.

"I'm here, son."

"I missed you so much."

A tug to Grandfather's lips. A twinkle in those sun-touched eyes. A strange feeling blossoms in Cyrus's chest, akin to ingesting his grandfather's chicken soup on cold summer nights.

"I missed you too, kid." Grandfather pats his head. Cyrus buries his face into this pillow. "Not a day goes by when I didn't regret not taking you in when I still had the chance. I left you all alone…"

Light is snagged by those thread-bare curtains. Cyrus stares at the sputtering ceiling fan as it faithfully resumes its duty.

"I can't keep watching you do this to yourself, Cyrus," Grandfather murmurs. "I should've been there to guide you… would things have turned out differently? Would your future still be bright?"

**_Ding! Ding!_ **

"I can say all the sorries that I want, but that won't fix anything now, will it?" The old man sighs. "I’m not even supposed to be here, Cyrus. I'm not supposed to see you again until much, much further down the road…

"But look at you. You're so tall. And you've accomplished so much…" _I'm a thief, Grandfather. A criminal. Ask anyone and you'll arrive at the same answer._ But he can't voice them in front of the old man. So Cyrus focuses on his uneven breaths, lying perfectly still as they deepen, as they echo throughout his lungs.

"And you've found great people, Cyrus," Grandfather continues, somewhere in the light. "You're not alone anymore, remember that. There are people who want to help you. People who need you, like me."

The bed is like quicksand. Benevolent quicksand. Cyrus musters all his willpower just to keep his eyes open. "Grandfather…" he croaks. "Don't go…"

A chuckle. A sad, tinkling sound. "I have to, Cyrus." Another pat on the head. "My clock stopped ticking long ago… but you still have time. Don't give up hope, Cyrus, no matter how bleak the future may be."

"Mmm… Grandfather…?"

"Hoho, when's the last time that you've had the proper eight hours of sleep, kid? You're still young, you know. Don't worry, I'll be here for as long as I can, I promise."

Cyrus might've nodded. He might've said something while his brain is shutting down.

"Sleep now, Cyrus," speaks the voice of everything that is right and pure with this cruel world. "You might not see me when you wake up, but know that I'll always be watching over you. Remember: look to the stars…"

"And you can see back in time," Cyrus finishes with a shaky smile. Grandfather chuckles and ruffles his grandson's hair.

"Right again, kiddo. Now, let me tell you the legend about those Time Gears. When Dialga was born, a long, long _time_ ago—hehe, can't help myself, sorry—it created five relics to assist in keeping the flow of the world's time. Three of the Gears were said to be guarded in secret lakes while the other two resided in forests beyond maps. However, legend has it that when the five Time Gears are brought together, the sun and moon…"

Cyrus's eyelids are closing on their own, despite his burning desire to stay with Grandfather for as long as possible. The last thing he sees is the old man's smile—the brightest star in the universe—until sleep finally covers his eyes.

Only this time around, the darkness isn't cold.

* * *

Red light burns into her eyes. Cynthia lets her eyelids flutter until the white blossoms wash themselves from her world.

_Ugh. Must've fallen asleep again. What time is it?_ A cuckoo clock cries from somewhere in the house. **_KOOK! Tick. Tock. KOOK!_** Cynthia fumbles to the windows. Dark clouds. Thick clouds. Crimson light pressing on the snow-tipped mountaintops of Celestic Town, enlarging shadows to nightmarish lengths.

She turns away. Her throat feels like a desert. The mere act of _swallowing_ hurts like hell. _Damn it._ Cynthia puts her ear against the door, pries it open, and after ascertaining that the coast is clear, tiptoes down the stairs.

"Kee?"

Cynthia screams. Fortunately, her hands are much quicker, so it comes as a muffled yelp instead. "Shh!" she hisses to the pouting Chingling. _Damn it, stop following me!_ The Pokemon drops its head. Cynthia sighs. "Sorry…" And it brightens somewhat.

_Okay, the fridge is just within arms-reach. I just have to be careful—_

"Cynthia." That voice pierces through the walls and into the confines of her visceral organs. She freezes. Chingling whimpers.

"Sit."

Cynthia sits. The scraping chair grates against her sizzling nerves. Beyond the golden curtain is a glimmering… something. She gingerly reaches out, shuddering when her feverish fingers curl around the glass of water, which she chugs down within a second's notice.

_That damn bitter taste is still there._

Cynthia inhales a handful of musty, herbal air. A bell bounces across the floor. Only after deeming that her mask is still intact does Cynthia raise her head.

"I messed up, Grandma," she mutters. "I messed up so bad…"

The old woman frowns. Her shades are on the table, so it's impossible to avoid those steely eyes. "Tell me about it," she huffs.

"I'm serious, Grandma! This is not a game!"

Grandma taps a hairpin against a glass of Moomoo Milk. "Oh no. The Champion of Sinnoh made a mistake. Her mighty eminence made a mistake, oh no."

"Grandma!" That bitter taste surges to her eyeballs. "Grandma, whose side are you on?"

Grandma shoots her granddaughter down with a glare. "I told you to watch that ego of yours, girl. You let it all get to your head, filling it with delusions of grandeur—"

"I get it, I get it! You told me already!" Cynthia jabs a palm to her forehead. "But I can't just abandon my title!" _I worked my ass off for it!_ "Everyone's looking to the Champion, especially in the midst of this crisis!"

"And what _exactly_ have you been so far to help, Miss Champion of Sinnoh?"

"I—" For a wild, panicked second, nothing comes to mind. "I… I helped…"

_HOLY ARCEUS what_ have _I been doing? Saving the world, right? Helping people. Protecting people. Finding the Time Gear._

_Taking down bad… guys…_

Cynthia slumps back into the chair. The old woman laces her hands under her chin. "You've gained much from your title, that's true," the latter mutters. "Fame. Fortune. Fans. Friends. But you're still not happy." A quirked eyebrow. "What did you lose in the process?"

Cynthia gapes. Chingling bounces its gaze between the two silent women.

"I lost my friend."

Grandma's lips tug downwards. "You have a lot of friends."

 _I know, Grandma… I know…_ Cynthia squeezes her arms. **_Tick. Tock._** That ancient cuckoo clock is still running. Shadows are oozing down the walls as the sun sinks into the horizon.

Then Cynthia digs into her pockets. The White Moonstone she presents on the table. Her grandma merely raises an eyebrow… until she sees the yellowed photograph, and whatever lecture she had planned to unleash dies on her lips.

"This is…" Grandma carefully picks up the treasure. Her eyes dart from the two very different faces of her granddaughter. "When was this taken, Cynthia?"

 _When times were much simpler._ "Sunyshore City," Cynthia grunts. "Before the solar panels were put in." _When it was still bright._

Grandma stares into the photo again. "Garchomp was so small." Cynthia drops her gaze to a swirl on the wooden table. The silence that follows feels like forever.

A rustling brings her back to the present. Grandma releases her hand, revealing those vacant blue eyes.

_Arceus no…_

"This was delivered to my doorstep a few days ago," Grandma says flatly. Cynthia buries her face into her palms. _Run away. Run run away._ "INTERPOL Agents are patrolling the Routes around Celestic. Everyone is on high alert in case… The police had suggested arming residents, but I didn't think that was necessary… nor wise."

Grandma sighs, a deep, long sigh. "I don't know what's really going on here, but it's too great of a mess for us old folks to intervene." She lays the poster against the photograph, placing the past alongside the present.

"What will the Champion of Sinnoh do now?" Grandma's tone is heavy. "What's more precious to you, Cynthia? Your memories? Or your legacy?"

**_TICK. BMP. BMP. TOCK._ **

Grandma stands. "Someone's at the door." She shoots her granddaughter a look before leaving the kitchen. Cynthia stuffs her treasures into her pockets. Chingling chirps. She hiccups into her palm and plants her face into her arms.

The door opens. Dry evening air seeps into the house.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, ma'am, but I bring news of utmost importance." A clearing of the throat. The distinct noise of fingernails against scalp. "Um… Is Cynthia here? I need to talk to her."

* * *

Cyrus isn't sure if he'd opened his eyes. Half of this world is still dark. The realization draws another tide of vertigo to his brain, and only when both hemispheres are dark again does it dissipate.

Something moist is touching his cheek. _Moist? No, no, it's… warm. Warm?_

Cyrus groans. "Grandfather… stop… stop biting me."

"Kaah! Kaah!"

"Hmm…" _When did Grandfather start making bird calls? His impersonation is perfect!_ "Grandfather, is it the weekend already?"

"Nyee! Nyeerus!"

Cyrus frowns. He shakes the grogginess away and slowly— _careful—_ sits up. Shapes are bouncing across his vision. "Grandfather, are you feeling all right?"

A silence. Then something slaps him. The blunt of a— _no, the heel of a hand?_ Whatever it is, it's not attacking him with all its strength. It still hurts like he—

All rationale is shredded away at the sickening revelation. He's back there. They caught him. Cyrus thrusts out his hands. "I'm—I'm sorry," he gasps. "I—I'll go quietly. I won't pull any tricks, I promise—"

"Nyee!" A claw grasps his wrist. Cyrus flinches. But when the handcuffs never came, he dares to raise his head.

"Weavile!" The cat utters what sounds like a cry of joy upon hearing its name, and secretly, Cyrus is too. The fuzzball launches itself into his open arms.

A low growl draws his attention to the window. Cyrus measures those glinting eyes carefully before reaching a tentative hand to Gyarados's snout. The Pokemon shifts so he can scratch it around the nostrils, its favorite spot.

A flash of feathers draws Cyrus back to a watchful Honchkrow. The crow tips its fedora. Not knowing exactly what to do, he gives the bird a deep nod. Honchkrow ruffles its breast with a soft chuckle.

A leathery wing nudges his cheek. Cyrus carefully peels off the dirty bandages off Crobat's head. Once he establishes that the wound had healed completely, he proceeds to rub the residue off the bat's skin.

"Where have you all been?" Cyrus mutters, bringing his Pokemon closer, feeling their heartbeats energizing his own. "How long have I been sleeping? What time is it?"

Gyarados gestures to the skies. When his eyes adjust to the light, Cyrus realizes, with a start, how _different_ everything is. _Were there always this many trees? Pine trees, oak trees, that weeping willow has certainly grown from last time… The Budew used to dwell around that rose field, but I suppose they've all moved on._

 _For a place where time stands still, it's certainly changed._ That observation leaves a strange numbness in his stomach. 

_It's… still bright. Judging from the sun's position from the horizon, it must be… quite late in the day?_ A headache is creeping in. _No, is it still dusk? Wait, so back then… was it morning? Dawn?_

_Am I even awake?_

Cyrus glances around the room. Dust motes wave back. _Oh._ He slumps back to the wall. _Of course. I_ was _going crazy. It was just a vivid hallucination… But for a while, it actually felt—_

Crobat nudges something into his hand. Cyrus squints until clearly-defined edges snap back into place. Dark splotches. A crisp, folded napkin free of dust, unlike the one that he had offered the Champion not long ago.

The sharp tang of hot soup wafts into his nose. A memory of starlit summer nights, of stories about a wondrous galaxy amongst the childish lyrics of a fishing song.

And a tingling on his forehead. The spot where a firm hand had visited before consciousness slipped from his grasp. Cyrus lifts the foreign object off his skin.

It's a piece of yarn.

Honchkrow draws Cyrus's attention to the counter. He slowly reaches for the bowl of soup, and he swirls the murky liquid with the metal spoon, frowning as his reflection scatters within the thickened broth.

A horrible groan causes his Pokemon to jump. Cyrus hesitates and drops the idea of punching his stomach altogether. Appetite had left him eons ago, but since they went out of their way to bring this to him…

The soup is cold. That's not an issue, but it's impossible to get more than one sip in without feeling the need to throw up.

**_Tick. Clink. Tock. Clink._** _Something's wrong with the clock. Did something malfunction?_

 _**Tmp. Tmp. Clink.**_ Honchkrow's beak twists at the incoming sound. _It's coming from the door._ Gyarados bares its fangs. Cyrus remains very, very still.

**_Tmp._** The footsteps stop. Weavile leaps in front of its Trainer as the doorknob jitters and turns. **_Creeeee…_**

Something is stirring from the shadows.

**_Clink. Clink._** The first thing Cyrus sees are the wings. Not… wings, like Crobat's nor Honchkrow's nor any other normal Pokemon's, but appendages seemingly crafted from writhing darkness itself. As if a cruel hand had sewn those abominations into flesh, daresay out of twisted amusement, while the wound was still fresh. 

**_Clink._** Chains rattle, and Cyrus feels his ribs quivering as well. Then a bony hand reaches out, the skin twisted and bleeding--

Cyrus yanks his Pokemon back before that monster can hurt them.

A pause. The phantom tilts its head. Then it lowers its arm.

_There's so much blood._ Cyrus finds himself staring at his own wrist. _C-Calm down. Focus… this is j-just another hallucination…_ But he can't look away. There's something about this… this _thing._ Something about its posture… something about the shackles hanging off its limbs… the frayed, tattered uniform covered in soot and blood.

And the burns. Burns, and all its aftermath on skin.

Cyrus's stomach folds in on itself when he sees the arm. _Bones aren't supposed to bend that way. Why… they're not supposed to bend at all…_

"I apologize," the phantom rasps. The blizzard itself is speaking. "I meant your Pokemon no harm, I assure you."

Crobat yelps. Cyrus immediately pushes himself back, back into the corner. He glares at his palm. _You monster! You hurt Crobat! You're no better than that_ thing!

Chains scrape against themselves. Cyrus's head snaps up. The phantom remains a safe distance from the bed, standing tall and straight, its functioning hand clasped over the other.

"You're finally awake, Cyrus," it croaks, lowering those shadowy wings. All light that dares to trespass is swallowed by darkness and lost forever. "Did you eat yet?"

Cyrus scowls. The phantom's cracked lips tug, muscles pushing to the trenches on the sides of its face. "Do you recognize me, Cyrus?"

The air is thick. Suffocating. Cold. He can't hear the grandfather clock anymore.

"Why are you here?" Cyrus snaps.

The Villain merely casts his gaze aside. Cyrus has the distinct feeling that he's being covertly observed, as if he was a specimen in a jar.

"I… have no other place to go," is the soft reply. "I never thought that you'd be back here of all places, Cyrus."

"You are supposed to be _dead."_

"I know," replies the Villain in low monotone. "So why are _you_ still alive?"

Cyrus flinches. He wishes that he can hide his face into his knees and melt away. "What do you want from me?" he whispers to the criminal.

The phantom's head is bowed so hair covers his eyes. Cyrus painfully releases his claws from the bowl. There are dents in the foam now.

"I'm sorry." The Villain twitches. Cyrus sets the soup aside, careful not to spill any liquid. He keeps his fingers on his temples until the nausea subsides. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

A silence. Gears cranking loudly from somewhere in the distance. 

"It's fine."

His lungs are moaning as they pump. Cyrus rubs his chest, grimacing slightly. After painfully mulling it over, he opens his mouth.

"I don't know what she wants with me."

"You mean to tell me that she still demands something from you?" There's an edge to the other's voice. "After she tossed you aside like trash?"

_Trash._ That word grates against his nerves. Sends hot blood coiling down his heart. "She… she said that I was the only one she could turn to. That I was the only one who could help her protect the world."

The Villain clicks his tongue. "You don't keep broken tools in the toolbox. And yet, she brought you back to life… because you're still useful to her."

 _Useful._ Another word that makes him sick to his stomach. "What choice did you have?" the Villain mutters. "She's the hero of this story. If she's to bring about the happy ending, then she'll do anything to save the world… even turning to a lowly criminal like you."

There's a growing hole in his lungs. "I know… I know, but—"

"But what? You don't _want_ the Hero to protect all that matters to her? Do you wish to deprive the world of its happy ending? Do you wish to let everyone down _again?"_ The Villain's eyes are flashing. "Selfish as always, Cyrus. Grow up!

"Wait. Ah, I understand. You despise her for who she has become, don't you?" 

"No!" Frost had wormed itself into his heart. "N-No. No, of course not. She worked hard for it. She earned it. It was her dream—"

"Who do you think I am, Cyrus?" snarls the Villain of Sinnoh. Those terrible wings are towering over the bed like Death's shadow. "I _know_ that she came back to see you. Unfortunately, you're the only tool she can use. But just look at you." He scoffs, sending Cyrus's blood into a frenzied boil. "The bar finally fell."

Cyrus glares at the loathsome criminal. "And?" he growls. The Pokemon cower at his rising voice. "And? What of it? She deserves all the praise while I deserve all the disappointment. You're just wasting my time if you came to rub this in my face."

"Cyrus—"

"Great, look at the Champion of Sinnoh, high and mighty in her untouchable eminence. She doesn't worry about the consequences of her actions because she's hated by no one! She's the figurehead of the region! She apprehended that evil nutjob! Let's make her a hero now and worship the deity!

"But that doesn't mean that she can do anything she wants!" Cyrus slams his fist into his lap and for a good, solid minute, he couldn't scream. "I… hah... I know that I have no right to say this, but doesn’t she know when enough is enough? What did she… hah… hope to accomplish in coming back with that _needless_ sentimentality? I only foolishly hung onto those memories because I deluded myself into thinking that they actually happened! And yet, with each encounter, she only confirmed the truth! They never happened! It was a lie! It was all a big, cruel _lie!_

"Don't you remember Crystal Cave? I-I made good on my side of the bargain! I-I had n-no intention of breaking my promise, but she still wasn't satisfied!" Then when Cyrus opens his eyes, he sees the floorboards. Turning back reveals his legs hanging precariously off the side of the bed. Raising his head brings him eye to eye with the Villain of Sinnoh and those wings that have filled the skies.

"What is acceptable in their eyes?" Cyrus whispers as if the criminal knows the answer. "It will never be enough… My words mean nothing… Everything I do is an irreversible mistake…"

 ** _WEE-WOO. WEE-WOO._** The sirens are wailing from the foggier pits of his mind, growing louder and louder until it fills the space around him. 

Cyrus shuts his eyes. He still sees it. That radiance had been burned into his retinas.

"I never expected her to believe me," Cyrus says to the contorting darkness. The mirror glares back at him—the embodiment of all things ugly and wrong with the world, this distortion of a perfect human being.

But he takes the mirror into his arms. He stares at it, and for the first time in his life, actually sees it for what it is.

"Don't you remember that look on her face?" Cyrus whispers. That emotion flashes through the Villain's eyes. "I had expected that much, but what I saw… It shouldn't…. It shouldn't have…"

His mind is all too willing to replay that moment in cold, sharp clarity. The moment when her lips pulled inwards, revealing glistening teeth. The moment he fulfilled his promise, when her nose had wrinkled, a reflex to a despicable stench. When all the muscles on her face contorted, and he almost blacked out. 

"It shouldn't have hurt so much." The Villain starts when Cyrus slumps to the floor. The former's hands instinctively jut out, only to be snagged back by chains.

"I-I don't understand…" Cyrus shuts his eyes. "They're just words." Words shouldn't bring the experience of being sucker-punched in the stomach. They shouldn't incite the experience of heart burn, asphyxiation, and decompression sickness all at once. He whispers, "S-Sticks and stones might break my bones, but-but words will never hurt me, remember? That's what they taught us..." 

At that moment in time, he was absolutely convinced that she would lunge forward, pushing past the armed guards to grab his hair and bash his head into the nearest crystal until he coughed out the truth. 

Sometimes he isn't sure if it actually happened. 

"Cyrus?" His own voice feels so alien to his ears. The reflection stares back at him, and the urge to punch it is only ruined by tremors racking his body. 

_Was this how they all felt when I dared to look at them?_

"Why did she come back?" he murmurs to the crumbling darkness. Big, blocky chunks impale themselves into the gap near his legs.

"She remembered what she rejected in the first place," the Villain mumbles. "Isn't that enough? Everything's back to normal—"

"No!" Cyrus grips the chains. "Do you really expect mere words to reverse everything that had happened? As if everything was for naught? She can't just expect things to go her way all the time! She's not a child anymore!"

The Villain hasn't blinked. Hasn't even breathed. Cyrus continues to match his glassy stare until the former jerks back.

"I'm sorry."

Cyrus blinks. For the first time in a long, long while, he feels… very light, as if that great burden has finally lifted from his shoulders. The internal blizzard has finally found an aqueduct to seep out. He slumps back. It's just the room with the faded walls and creaking floorboards. Thick beams of light wafting into the darkness. The mournful cries of Starly as they begin to fly home.

His Pokemon are still here.

"I'm sorry," the Villain croaks, shaking his head. Those spiraling tendrils have shrunken back to patchy, tattered wings. "I always make things worse. I never meant to disrupt your recovery process…" The shackles are quivering. "You were doing just fine until I came along…"

"Please forgive my insolence." The Villain staggers to his feet before Cyrus can react. "I won't inconvenience you again, Cyrus. Farewell."

"Wa—" Those words barely leave his lips when the door flings open, and the Villain almost collides with the visitor.

"Cyrus?" Jupiter gasps.

* * *

Cyrus is a mess. He's on the floor again, go figure. He's been coughing.

_How the hell is he even awake?_

"Cyrus!" Jupiter shoves aside the shadow and hurries to his side. She peels him off the floor like she's lifting up paper.

"Cyrus, what the hell were you doing?" she snaps into his unresponsive face. She groans and swings his good arm over her shoulder. "I'm bringing you back to your goddamn bed." As expected, the bed swallows him like quicksand.

The bowl of soup is still on the counter. It's cold now. She offers to throw away an unfamiliar napkin that he's holding, but he simply turns away.

"Master Cyrus…" The group peers inside with worried eyes. Saturn is eating away at his fingernails; a habit she hasn't seen for the longest time.

Jupiter runs a tongue over her teeth. "Mars, can you grab a new bowl of soup for me please?"

"B-But—"

"Mars."

"Yes."

Then Jupiter crosses her arms. Her eyes sweep across every nook and cranny of the room. She's been in here too many times to count, but she can't shake the feeling that something is unmistakably _wrong._ To top it all off, evening sunlight only exaggerates shadows to monstrous proportions.

"I know you're there!" Jupiter snarls to the dust. No reply. _Duh._ "Whoever you are, show your face, or you'll wish that you haven't crawled out of hell!"

**_Tmp._** A depressed floorboard. A cold spot that has no right to be here, in the living world. Jupiter flexes her knuckles and swings.

**_SBACK!_** And her fist connects, much to her horror. _Gotcha, little motherfu…_ It's something cold… much too cold. And hard. In fact, there's the sound of impact from somewhere nearby.

Something scratches her skin.

_Soot?_

"STOP!"

Jupiter freezes. Shadows are squirming in the corner of her eye, and upon turning, it's those stupid Ghost Pokemon that are holding her back.

Turning 180° presents her with a wide-eyed Cyrus with one hand extended, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"Cyrus." Her voice is barely kept under control. "Come again?"

Cyrus is speaking, but she's not hearing words. He yanks his gaze away, and the Ghosts stream back to his side.

"Cyrus," Jupiter hisses, slowly stalking to the bed. She slaps aside Crobat's wing, shoots Honchkrow down with a glare and shoves Weavile backwards. Even Gyarados bows its head. "Cyrus, what did you say?"

He hides behind his pillow. Jupiter hesitates, but she smacks that shield away so he can look at her in the eye. "Cyrus, I know you can talk. What the hell was that about?"

"I-I'm sorry." Her heart plunges to her stomach. "P-Please don't hurt him."

"Him…?" Jupiter wretches her neck back to the darkness, vaguely aware of the tendons crackling. "Who the hell is _'him?'"_ She grabs his collar before he can hide again. "Cyrus, I'm asking you a question. Who the _hell_ was that?" 

"That-that's… that's…"

"Spit it OUT, Cyrus!"

"Don't you recognize who that is?!" Cyrus snaps, and she jolts back. A Grunt yelps, sending the eavesdroppers into a crumbling tower of flesh.

"C-Commander!"

"WHAT, B-2?"

"T-There's… eep, there's a something n-n-next to you."

Saturn scowls. Then all color drains from his face when he sees the shadow. Panic spreads like wildfire. 

"Stop." To everyone's surprise, it was Cyrus who spoke. The fire dies immediately. "I-I mean… there's nothing… there's nothing to be afraid of, I assure you."

"It's a friendly ghost?" R-8 squeaks. When the man finally looks up from his blanket, there's a strange assortment of emotions on his face.

"A ghost is still a ghost," Jupiter hisses, rubbing at her chest. "It is dead, and it should _stay_ dead." She shakes her head and returns to the bundle of hurt on the bed. Cyrus is staring at her. As if he wants to say something.

_Holy Arceus we need to fix his eyes._

"I've caused all of you undue burden." All commotion dies at that raspy voice. Cyrus takes a deep breath. "I… I've caused all of you needless discomfort… But…erm… Y-You're still here. A-And… erm…"

Saturn starts forward, but Jupiter stops him with a hand. Mars has returned, but she remains in the safety of the doorway.

Cyrus finally releases his grip on the blanket. "Thank you," he states softly. "For not… erm… f-for bearing with me." He clears his throat. Twice. "Thank you for being patient with me. I have no intention of letting all your hard work go to waste." He raises his head. "I'll see to it that you receive adequate reparations, to the best of my abilities."

Jupiter crosses her arms, tucking those trembling fingers in tight. Cyrus exhales quietly and continues. "If… If you'll allow me to keep accompanying you… then I'll give nothing but my best. Miss Ja—"

"Ahem."

"M-Miss Ju—"

_"AHEM."_

"Jupiter," he blurts. 

_Arceus, this is really happening._ "Yes, Cyrus?"

"M-Master Cyrus?"

"Boss?"

Cyrus gulps a shaky breath. "S-Saturn. Mars."

"Doctor Cyrus!"

"D-Doctor? You're the one with a law degree, B-2—"

"And _you're_ the one with the doctorate, sir."

Cyrus's brows furrow. He stares at the grinning R-8 before turning back to his cautious Pokemon. "How…"

"You owe us big time, Cyrus," Jupiter snaps. He sighs.

"Y-Yes. Anything you wish. I am in your debt."

Jupiter beckons Mars forward. The whole team surges to the bed. She hears the painful rippling of Cyrus's lungs, sees the sudden stiffness gripping his shoulders.

"Eat something." She presents the steaming bowl of soup. His eyes are brighter than usual. "Come on. You promised."

That word sinks into Cyrus's skull. She doesn't look away. Then, after a sluggish heartbeat passes, he accepts the bowl.

A sigh rushes through the Old Chateau. 

Mars notices the trembling. "I can help, Boss," she says softly.

"N-No. No, it's fine. I can—"

"Boss."

"T-Thank you, Mars." Mars grins. Cyrus lowers his head as Mars scoops some soup, blows on it, and brings it to his lips.

"Here comes the C-5 Cargo Plane." She brings the airplane to life, and Jupiter secretly steals a glance outside the clear skies. Cyrus stares at the spoon. She jabs it forward until his lips finally part way.

 _Holy Arceus he's like a baby Starly._ Jupiter swallows the giggles though. She's not ready to forgive him yet. "Is it good?" she grunts. "Cyrus?"

Cyrus nods while he covers his mouth. She hears a hiccup behind that hand. "It's ed… it's very warm."

"S-Saturn made it," Jupiter says as casually as she can. 

"Oh." Saturn chomps on his finger when Cyrus makes eye contact. "You… did… did you?" The younger man bobs his head. "Oh. Well… good work, Saturn. It… has an interesting flavor. The… the chicken is very crunchy."

"Crunchy?" Saturn mouths. Then everyone's staring at the boss.

"Yes?" Cyrus squints into the soup. Weavile steps in to commandeer the spoon. "That part, Weavile." The cat makes a face as it holds up a giant chunk of blackened goop.

Mars snatches back the bowl. The burnt soup is passed down the assembly line of Grunts to a fate unknown.

"I am so sorry, Boss," Saturn moans.

Cyrus frowns. "Why?" He's squinting again.

"Okay, okay." Jupiter claps her hands. "You still owe me a solid, Cyrus." He nods despondently. "Get some sleep." His frown deepens.

"But I'm not tired." His voice is fading. "I just slept, Jupiter." Then he leans forward. "And I think I have a lead with the—"

Jupiter crosses her arms, and he shuts up. The younger Commanders glance at each other. The Grunts fidget on their toes.

"Jupiter?"

"Just spit it out, Cyrus."

Cyrus purses his lips. Red sunlight is trickling through the glass pane, fiery beams accentuating the ethereal whiteness of his hair. _N-No, it's still blue. It's still blue, Jupiter._ As the sun goes down, so does the light in his eyes. Nevertheless, he grips his fists, and he straightens.

"Do you mind holding Crobat for a minute?"

 _Huh?_ Cyrus remains dead-serious, so she must've heard him correctly. He stares into the shadowy spot with some sort of burning conviction before turning back to her. 

"Um… sure, but you're sleeping after this." He nods. Jupiter shuffles forward. The man gently coaxes his Pokemon to her arms.

"Can you bring them to him?"

"Who—oh." _Ooooh._ She barely suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. _"Him._ In that spot, right? Where there's no one, right?"

"Yes." _Arceus, Cyrus, you really, really need to go see a doctor._ "Stop within a meter from the corner. Mars and Saturn, do you mind coming too?"

The younger Commanders glance at each other. "Um… sure…"

"Thank you all very much."

 _This poor boy actually believes… Aw hell, at least he's not pulling anything stupid…_ She trudges to that ominous cold spot with the Pokemon in her arms and the Commanders at her trail. Crobat's ears twitch. _Great. It sees HIM._

Cyrus is waiting. "It's all right," he says, and she's sure as hell he's not speaking to anyone whose blood runs red in this room. "There's nothing to fear."

 _Yes, there is—_ Then Crobat stiffens, causing her to recoil, causing Saturn to jump back like an agonized cat and Mars to trip over his leg. 

_HOLY ARCEUS CYRUS YOU OWE ME BIG TIME WHEN THIS IS DONE._

Then Honchkrow gasps. _What the hell are you seeing?!_ The bird's feathers rustle ever so slightly, and it's not from a draft. There's a certain way that the feathers are moving… as if a hesitant hand is pressing upon its breast.

Weavile whimpers. Its ears are flapping wildly, coming close to generating a windstorm. Colors reflect in its eyes. _Blue? Red against orange…_

"Cyrus, who the _hell_ were you speaking to?!"

"Myself," is the quiet answer.

Then she's had it. "Okay, Cyrus, enough of the bullshit—"

_"Thank you."_

Everyone shuts up. The man on the bed has his head tilted, a peculiar expression bubbling on his face.

_C-Cyrus was n-never a ventriloquist… right?_

"B-Boss?" Saturn mutters. "D-D-Did y-you s-say something?"

"Not… exactly."

Mars is rubbing her arms, generating ample electricity to fuel multiple generators. "I wonder if they have any medicine for--"

Then the smell hits Jupiter's nostrils. Sterile. Seawater? A very, very familiar smell from that dark and stormy night. Memory stirs amidst the rancid stench of charred blood.

Shadows churn, revealing a… _a wing?_ Some bizarre interpretation of a wing with bloody red, pike-like nails sewn into the surface.

"Jupiter?" Mars whispers from somewhere in the room.

**_TICK. TOCK._** The clock feels like a drowning heartbeat throughout the mansion. Jupiter finds herself leaning inwards as she searches for a face, sifting aside blood, soot, and rain until she locates that eye.

_Still unmistakably blue,_ just as she remembered.

"Arceus, you're so cold," she mutters. Details are flickering into existence the longer she stares into the darkness. Colors forming in that inky pool of black.

"How long have you been suffering?"

A strangled gasp slices through the dream-like haze. The younger Commanders retreat, but Jupiter remains strong. The unmistakable impact of metal against wall sends tremors to her heart, but she holds on. Floorboards groan, the clock unwinding deliriously until light zaps that pool of shadow, showering the room with an all-consuming radiance.

It's not cold anymore. The second shadow is nowhere to be seen. All is right in the world as the last rays of sunlight recede back to the windows, leaving moonlit trails in its wake. A cool night breeze sneaks into the walls. The stars are brighter than any candle.

**_Ding. Ding._**

Cyrus slumps forward, but the Grunts catch him before he breaks his spine. They gently ease him back to the supine position, tucking the pillow under his head, putting the blanket over his vibrating chest. Once everyone establishes that he's snoring away, only _then_ is everything right with the world.

Jupiter silently deposits the Pokemon back where they belong. They snuggle up next to their Trainer. Gyarados remains a bit longer before retreating to the pond below. 

"Jupiter?" Saturn murmurs. There's a napkin in his hands. Dark splotches have begun to stain its impeccable surface, and the more that she blinks, the heavier the rain continues to fall.

* * *

Looker half-expects the old lady to slam the door in his face. After all, it's near dusk, and everyone in this isolated mountain town is about to tuck in for the day.

But what he didn't expect was for the town elder to grab his ear and drag him inside the house.

"Ow! Ow, what are you—" She finally releases her clamp once they've arrived in the kitchen. The room is enveloped in golden hues and long, ominous shadows. And the person that he's looking for is sitting on the chair, illuminated in a bloody glow.

"Sit," the old lady says. Looker obeys. Cynthia shoots a pleading look to her grandma. Looker swallows his offered Moomoo Milk as quietly as possible.

_That clock is very loud._

"Sit," Grandma snaps before Looker can act on his thoughts. 

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

Grandma's nails tap against the glass. Looker's fingers twitch, but he's not ready to go bald just yet.

"Cynthia. The detective is here to see you."

"I know…" Barely audible, that voice. Coming from the Champion of Sinnoh, no less.

So Looker busies himself by spreading his case files on the table. He makes sure the documents cover that horrible, icy glare. 

"Um," he begins. "So. Unfortunately, we've had to expand our evacuation efforts." He juts his chin to the map. "Jubilife got… it's not safe there anymore. So far, it's been Canalave, Eterna, Snowpoint, Floaroma, Solaceon…" He licks his lips. "We're starting to see signs of paralysis creeping up to Hearthome…"

"We're not taking your offer," Grandma snaps with cold finality.

Looker shakes his head. "I-I'm not here for that." _I knew you wouldn't budge anyway. I see where she gets it from._ "I-I just wanted to give Cynthia a debriefing…"

Grandma raises an eyebrow. "So you tracked her all the way up here?"

"Um. N-No, ma'am. I tried the League first—"

"Did you hear that, Cynthia? This young man drove _aaall_ the way out here to deliver news to the _Champion."_ That word is emphasized. "The _Champion_ is waiting for people to come to _her_ instead."

"I get it, Grandma!" the granddaughter snaps. Looker nonchalantly scoots back. "I'm supposed to take responsibility and all that!"

"No, you _don't_ get it, and that's exactly why you keep hiding out here!"

"No, _you_ don't get it, Grandma! I can't just waltz back there! I know what I'm doing!"

Grandma snorts. "Really? Okay, then do it." She yanks the wanted poster from under the piles of documents. "Arrest this rotten criminal. Give him what he deserves, then the world will get the happy ending that _it_ deserves."

When Looker opens his eyes, the chair had fallen over. Cynthia is flat on her ass, her golden hair splayed all over the floor. In the red sunlight, she could've been lying among vibrant spider lilies.

Looker rushes to hoist his confidant up while the old woman watches with hardened eyes. "Detective."

"Y-Yes, ma'am."

"What makes a hero?"

Looker blinks. "Um…" He scratches his head—and immediately jabs his hand into his pocket. "Um… A hero… protects people, right?"

"Does everyone deserve to be saved?"

_What the hell is going on here?_ "Um… yes?" The badge feels like it's on fire. Looker calmly swipes that off his chest and throws it in his pocket. _Out of sight, out of mind._

"Grandma, that's enough!" Cynthia yanks the poster away, but the old woman is quicker.

"You can't keep sitting on the fence, Cynthia! This type of indecisive is costing you precious time! You need to decide and live with your choice!"

"But can't you protect everyone?"

Then all eyes are on Looker. _Damn. Bad, bad decision not to bring the emergency jet pack today._

"Um…" _Back up, back up, Handsome._ "I-I mean…" He swallows the lump down his throat. "I think you're putting too much pressure on your granddaughter, ma'am. Sure, being a hero is a great responsibility, but she's still human, at the end of the day."

That settles in like oil on water. Grandma is scowling. Cynthia, on the other hand, is staring at the man with wide, glassy eyes. Looker keeps his head down as he collects his documents. 

_I am so not good with this emotion thing._

"No, Grandma's right." The older adults turn to the young woman who had just spoken. Cynthia breathes into her palms, her shoulders slowly but surely rising back to their former glory. "I can't… I can't keep being ambivalent, not when so many people are counting on me."

Grandma crosses her arms. Cynthia stands a little taller. "Looker." He jolts. "You're right, too. I don't want to pick between two choices. I'll make it work, somehow. I'm… I'm not a child anymore…"

_As usual, I've missed out on a lot of developments, haven't I?_

"No, you're not," Grandma says softly, shifting her gaze to the darkening skies. "At least… not on the outside." She chuckles somberly. "Things aren't simple anymore, Cynthia."

_Yup. I'm definitely missing out on something. And they're not going to tell me. What time is it?_ Looker groans. _Great. Time to drive back in the dark._

"I'm sorry, Looker."

He gives her a very intelligent response, befitting of an agent of INTERPOL. "Huh?"

Cynthia's lips quiver. "I know that I haven't been… receptive, as of late. That it was all talk. You're the only one taking this seriously… running around while the Champion…" She shakes her head. "While the Champion hid from her duties."

Looker's about to open his mouth. _Well… that's not a lie._ "Um. Well, that's my job, Cynthia." _Job. Yup. Mandatory._

"You should take some advice from the detective," Grandma grunts, twirling a spoon in the air. "Learn to be a better hero from the people around you."

Looker is aware of the heat in his ears. _Wow. That's the first time anyone has ever…_

**_KOOK! KOOK!_**

 _Oh yes._ Looker clears his throat. "So… Cynthia." She looks up. "Have you found anything on your end?"

"No." _Okay. Okay. That's fine. You're got your secrets, and I've got mine._

"Looker?" _It's a pathetic excuse of a lead, but it's still something. If I do happen to find him, then—_

That smile flashes into mind. Those lifeless eyes, devoid of hope. Those needles and pouches of blood.

"Looker?"

He blinks. Cynthia is staring at him. "Y-Yes? Cynthia?!"

She frowns. "You came to tell me something?"

"No," Looker states firmly. "I just came to fill you in. About the evacuations. While you were gone."

"Oh." He pretends to not have heard the disappointment in her tone. But she straightens nonetheless. "Okay. If anything, let me know so I can help, Looker. For real this time."

"Um… Okay. Of course. Yes." He glances at the watch again. "I have to go," he grunts. "Got a stack of papers back at the office."

"Cynthia can walk you out," Grandma offers.

Looker puts up a hand. "I'll be fine, ma'am. Cynthia, remember the last time you went out by yourself in the dark? I'm still following suspicious activity, and there's only one of me and four of them. Charon is still running around somewhere." He frowns. "I know you can look out for yourself, but we can't have anything happening to you in the meantime."

Cynthia absorbs all this with a slow nod. Then she scoffs. Looker can't help but smirk. 

"Thank you, Looker." Cynthia offers a faint smile, but a smile nevertheless. "Really, I… Thank you for everything that you've done."

"My pleasure." _It's nice to be appreciated._ He waves at the two women until the night breeze reaches his face. He squints to the ball of light in the sky.

"I'm sorry, Cynthia." Looker grips his briefcase. He inhales deeply and lifts his chin. "But I know what I have to do."

_And I'll do it on my own. That's the only way I can uncover the truth._

* * *

_The Starly are active today._

Cyrus imagines himself outside in the lush fields, immersed in the cool, pleasant breeze of Eterna Forest. Traveling up a path of wild roses on the right and lilies, tulips on the left. Walking on his own two feet, taking an accidental detour, looking up to see crawling ivy on rusted iron gates.

 _It must be morning._ Sunlight is not as harsh as it is during dusk. A Starly flies into the room, eventually nesting on Gyarados's head. The serpent sneezes, and the surprised bird takes off to the trees.

Cyrus puts his hand out the window. _Not at all humid today. I'd say about… 16 °C. Suitable weather for field work._ Weavile climbs up Gyarados's neck with a Berry in its claw and a gang of panicked Budew at its tail. Not far away, Honchkrow is leading a murder of Murkrow in flight, its fedora flaring in the breeze. A flock of Golbat flies past window, and Cyrus returns Crobat's wave. He watches his Pokemon for a bit more before returning his attention to the sole visitor in the room.

"What happened to you?" Cyrus mutters. It's difficult to maintain eye contact without feeling the need to turn away. Before his own wounds reopen.

The Villain gives a small smile. Looks like a grimace instead. "The same thing that happened to you, Cyrus." One wing shifts, revealing chunks of burnt fabric around its base. "It's fine, though," he adds upon Cyrus's reaction. "I'm used to it."

"Can you fly?"

"Hmm?" A tilt of the head. "I… I've never tried, to be honest…" A pause. "The only ones who should fly are Pokemon…"

"And heroes." Cyrus isn't sure if he'd said that. _Of all the things…_

The Villain frowns. Cyrus compares his bandaged wrist to the ghost's shackles. _There's no keyhole. No way of releasing what had been welded shut._

"I… I can ask Jupiter for bandages—"

"That's not necessary, Cyrus," is the soft reply. "You'll just be wasting them. Focus on your own recovery." With that, the Villain drops both his voice and gaze. He keeps his head tilted, listening to something beyond the reaches of these walls.

Then Cyrus sits up. "Where are you going?"

The Villain turns over his shoulder. Those wings fold inwards as a sigh rattles his body. "I am an unwanted guest." There's an expression that Cyrus knows all too well. The former juts his chin to the creaking door. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Something presses against Cyrus's hand. Honchkrow. Crobat. Weavile. Gyarados pokes its head into the window.

The ice thaws from the Villain's eyes. "I'm… I'm gra… No." His voice hardens. "No, I wish you nothing but success in your future, Cyrus, no matter which path you decide… Take care of the Pokemon." He turns. "That's all. Farewell."

"Please wait."

The Villain stops. Chains rattle. Cyrus keeps his head up.

"Thank you for coming."

Silence. A stray leaf blows into the room, into the other's direction, passing through his shimmering form.

"Thank you for letting me see them again."

And with that, the Villain of Sinnoh takes his leave. His pace slows when the grandfather clock picks up pace, but he marches onward, brushing past the second visitor without a second glance.

 ** _Clink. Clink…_** And the carpet swallows the sound of dragging chains.

Cyrus then tears his attention to another shape from the shadows.

 ** _Plick. Plick._** _A leaky faucet?_ Cyrus suddenly feels very, very cold. As if he's submerged in choppy waters. "Who are you?" he grunts. "Show yourself."

And the boy does. Gazes connect, and Cyrus immediately breaks contact. His lungs are pulsating again. He can taste fluid— _salt? Seawater—_ in his mouth, running up his nose. Lightning rings from somewhere in the tranquil skies. The bitter surge of disappointment staining his lips.

The boy lowers his head. Muddy footsteps trail from the doorway… no, not footsteps per say, but it appears as if the child had dragged himself in. That sweater is damp, tattered as if caught amongst an unforgiving riptide. Water is still dripping from his hair, his hands, his clothes… trailing down cheeks devoid of heat.

"What happened to you?" Cyrus croaks once he can speak.

A pause. **_Plick. Plick._** "The same thing that happened to you, sir."

That voice is like a bullet to the skull. Cyrus rubs his eyes until all seawater is expunged from his vision. "What happened to your arm? Your legs…?"

The boy raises his head, Cyrus flinches. The answer is clear as day.

Cyrus grips his chest. Feels the dry bandages around his head. _Was it really that bad?_ Apparently so, judging from his Pokemon's expressions.

The boy is still there. A safe distance apart. Trembling. "Y-You can come closer," the man gasps. "If you want."

The child hesitates. Cyrus keeps his breaths steady as he straightens. "Can you walk?" Gastly and Haunter appear at his side, much to Honchkrow's chagrin. The man gestures the Ghosts forward. "Everyone," he tells the Pokemon. "I need your help."

Honchkrow responds by easing its Trainer's legs down the side of the bed. Crobat is less enthusiastic but complies nevertheless. Weavile grips Cyrus's good hand. The Ghosts swirl around his legs, creating a ghostly cushion.

Cyrus braces himself, and he stands.

Broken crystals flash before his eyes. He would've broken his nose again if not for Weavile's assistance. Cyrus swallows the pain and pushes onward. _One step._ The beach with crystalline waters. _Two steps._ A suffocating fog. _T-Three-- StopstopstopSTOPSTOPSTOP._

 _Four._ Weavile keeps him strong. _Five. Six. S…Se…Seven!_

Then he's there. In front of the little boy. Cyrus shuts his eyes, and only when the ground becomes solid again does he open them.

"I…" A cough. _No, no not now. Focus._ "I can help you." He prepares for the upcoming protests, and to his shock, the boy merely stares at him, mouth open, with trails of water trickling down his chin.

"A-All right." Cyrus casts a glance to his Pokemon. _Okay. I can do this._ The man gingerly wraps his good arm around the little boy— _ah, he's so cold—_ and picks him up. _He hasn't been eating._ Darkness is creeping into his vision again, but Cyrus sinks his teeth into his lips and push onward.

After an agonizing eternity, Cyrus finally reaches the bed. He almost falls over, but doing so would hurt the child even more, so he summons every ounce of control to sit down as gracefully as possible. Crobat returns from outside and brings the cup of water, which he devours like a rabid animal, neverminding its funny taste.

The boy hasn't taken his eyes off the man. Cyrus scrambles to recollect his decency.

"You…" _Breathe. Remember to breathe. Proper oxygen intake will return the heart to resting rate and—_

"I'm sorry."

Cyrus stops the child before the former can fall off the bed and destroy what was already broken. "Where are you going?" the man snaps.

The boy's chin is trembling. Cyrus's breath hitches. "I-I'm sorry. I'm getting your blanket wet. Y-You won't be able to use it…" He's speaking as if bubbles are streaming from his nose. Cyrus notes the puddles on the bed, the dampness of his palm.

"And?" he says flatly. The boy whimpers, flinging out his hand, and the man's breathing takes a deep plunge. "S-Stop. Stop d-doing that. I'm not going to… I-I-I have no intention of ha…harming…"

Cyrus feels the tremors sneaking into himself as well. "N-No." He clears his throat loudly. "I'm not going to hurt you." _Not like back then._ "I pro—I assure you."

Silence. Cyrus inhales through his teeth, pushing aside that metallic taste. "L-Look. Zubat is here. Ho-H-Murkrow is here. Magikarp is also here. And with Sneasel around, no one will dare to hurt you."

The Pokemon shuffles to the boy, who slowly looks up from his hand. Weavile is sniffing his sleeve. Crobat gives a soft smile. The child is staring at the Pokemon, but Cyrus isn't sure if he's actually _seeing_ them.

Cyrus slides the pillow forward, making sure that it's cushioning the boy's back, and shares the blanket. "You… Your body temperature is dangerously low," the man grunts. "You… might contract hypothermia."

The boy's gaze catches on those bandages. "I'm sorry," he mutters.

Cyrus frowns. "Why are you apologizing?"

"B-Because it's my fault that you're hurt."

"No, it's not. The fault is entirely mine." His voice cracks. "And… and I should be the one apologizing, not you. You tried to warn me, but I was too stupid to listen… And now you can't even walk…"

_You can't even function properly._

The boy is staring at Cyrus again. The latter coughs into his sleeve. "S-So, erm… stop apologizing."

"I'm sorry." Cyrus glares at the child, who gasps and bobs his drenched head. "I'm sorry. I won't do that again—"

"You'll get sick if you walk around in wet clothes." Cyrus searches for a towel and resorts to using the clean side of the blanket instead.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop."

"Y-Yes, sir. I'm so--" Cyrus scowls, and the boy covers his mouth. The man is too wholly focused on the task at hand to mind his protesting body. All traces of water on the child is gone in no time. Surprisingly, even the puddles have dried up as well.

_Acceptable results._

"Erm… excuse me."

"What is it?"

The boy shyly peers up from the mess of hair. "Thank you, sir."

Cyrus blinks. Those words are hitting his ears while failing to register in his brain. But he does know that his pulse has quickened, and he can't explain why. The following silence is only broken by the boy sniffling.

"S-Sir. Where are you going?"

"Bandages," is the curt reply. "And some disinfectant. I don't know if we have them, but Jupiter might—"

Something grabs his wrist, and the boy immediately yanks back his hand. "I-I'm sorry!" he yelps. Cyrus groans. "I'm--! Please don't exert yourself, sir. I’m fine, I assure you."

"No, you're not."

"Y-Yes I am. See? It doesn't hurt anymore!" A pause. "W-Well… it doesn't… hurt as much as it used to…"

Cyrus absently rubs his temples, flinching when he feels the bruises. "Just sit down—"

"I'm fine, really." The boy's voice has grown as edge. Cyrus scowls, and to his shock, the boy scowls back. The Pokemon bounce their gazes between their Trainers until Cyrus sighs and slumps back into his spot.

"I don't understand children," he mumbles.

"But didn't you raise Mars and Saturn?" Upon seeing the man's bewildered look, the boy gives a tentative smile that he hides behind a deathly-pale hand. "I know about them. I know as much as you allow me to know, sir."

Cyrus opens his mouth. He closes it. He tries again… and settles for shaking his head instead.

"Jupiter yells at you a lot," the boy continues softly. He could've been dangling his legs by now. "Your team… I like them very much. They're not… They're so different from _them."_

 _Them._ Just the mere memory leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. Cyrus shoves the sentimentality aside before he falls any deeper into the darkness.

"I wish that I could've met them earlier," the boy is whispering. "I want to talk to them…"

"I can go with you—"

"They can't see me."

"Ah. Yes." _That makes sense._ Crobat nudges his hand, and he gives it a much-needed pat.

"I wanted to talk to the man who was with you earlier, sir. But he wouldn't look at me." Those small shoulders shake with a sigh. "He hates me."

"No," Cyrus says without missing a beat. "No, he doesn't hate you at all."

The boy frowns. "Then why won't he talk to me?"

_That's…_ "You already know the answer," the man mutters.

"Oh. I'm so—Okay." The boy's tracing some pattern into the blanket. "'It's complicated,' right?"

Cyrus frowns. The boy changes subject.

"May I see your Pokemon?"

Cyrus makes a choking sound in his throat. "You don't have to ask for permission," he tells the boy as Crobat hops from under his arm. "You can pet them." 

"Thank you so much!" The change that passed through the boy's face is as stark as night and day. Cyrus frowns again, but it's more of a confused reaction than anything. Nevertheless, he finds himself entranced at how the child's demeanor suddenly brightened upon gaining permission to hold the Pokemon. 

_He's just like Saturn when I gave him that robot…_

"Zubat doesn't look like this," the boy mutters as he strokes those four wings. The bat nips his ear, and he giggles.

Cyrus scoffs. "That's Crobat, not Zubat. She evolved."

"Evolved?" the boy echoes. "As in the Theory of Evolution?"

"Erm. Not… in the same concept, but you're still technically correct." The man rubs the dust off the bat's ears. "She has indeed changed."

"Oh. So she grew up?"

_'She grew up.' What an interesting choice of words._ "Yes. They all grew up."

"I see. What color is she now?"

"She's…" Cyrus squints at the bat, who returns a surprised look. _That's… a good question. If memory serves me well, she was…_ "Crobat is not blue anymore."

"Interesting." Trembling hands graze Honchkrow's fluffy plume. "Murkrow got a hat."

"Fedora. And he's Honchkrow now."

"Oh. Hello, Honchkrow." The crow tips its fedora, earning a faint laugh from the boy. The Pokemon's beak curves. _He looks so different when he laughs,_ is the sudden realization.

"Where is Magikarp?" To that, Cyrus tilts his head. The boy follows that gaze—and gasps. "Magikarp got eaten!"

"What? No, don't be ridiculous." The man pats the serpent's snout. Even the Pokemon looks slightly offended. "Magikarp grew up. He's Gyarados now."

"I'm so—Okay. Hello, Magi—Gyarados." The Pokemon snorts. It lowers its head for that small hand. "To think that you were so small back then, Gyarados. You used to fit in my arms, and now you're so tall!" The boy notices the look on the man's face.

Fortunately, the cat bounces into his arms before clarification can be asked. "Hello," he mumbles. "Who are you?"

"Nyeerus!"

Cyrus makes that little sound in his throat. _When Mars saw Gyarados for the first time, she didn't bat an eye._ "Shouldn't you know?"

"No."

"I'm sorry? But… but you knew about Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter…"

The boy looks away. Cyrus sighs. "This is Weavile," the latter says, scratching the cat behind its crown. "We… had some difficulties at first." Weavile chuckles nervously, hiding its claws behind its back until Cyrus's frown dissipates into the air. He sighs again. "But the past is behind us. He is a very dependable partner."

The boy's nodding. "You got hurt in the same eye too. It looked so painful—"

He covers his mouth. Cyrus's scowl is deepening by the second. Weavile casually slinks away from the limelight.

"I don't understand children at all," the man huffs. _What goes on inside their heads? They're dangerously perceptive, that's for sure. Just like that boy and his friends… What was his name again...? Dawn?_

The boy scoots closer. Cyrus instinctively flinches, prompting a quiet apology from the younger one. "Just tell me what you want," he grunts.

A timid smile. _Did it get brighter in here?_ "Erm… I was wondering if you could tell me about the future?"

_But what else is there to tell you?_ The boy is staring at him with expectant eyes, as if it was a weekend and Grandfather had promised a trip to the museum. Cyrus feels his own finely-crafted mask slip. Similar to that time when Saturn boasted about building his UFO by himself. _"Stellar work, Commander,"_ and his face would glow brighter than the sun.

"Well," Cyrus begins and almost followed that with a "When Dialga was born, time started to flow." Either that or a one-sided dialogue about wave-particle duality that makes Jupiter put her head in her hands and Mars to turn away. 

So Cyrus tries again. "I left Sunyshore after I attained by degree." The boy understands the unspoken implications. "I took the train to Canalave, and I had to work so I can put a roof over my head. It took a while, but I initiated my first lease."

The boy's gaze lingers on the man's hand, one much larger than his own, before going back to the imaginary map on the blanket. "Canalave… is here." Cyrus points to an arbitrary bump in the threads. "Imagine this is Sinnoh. Mt. Coronet divides the region through the middle…"

"I have a map."

"You do?" 

_"The Map"_ is a rolled-up parchment that the boy produces from his sweater. It's a bit damp, but still strong enough to hold when touched. But before Cyrus even thinks about opening it, a cold spot opens in his lungs. Icy fingers drum down his spine like the forewarning senses before an electrical shock.

The boy is waiting. "I… I apologize," the man grunts. "Now let's see—"

_Oh._

Crobat peers over his hand. Honchkrow, wondering why the bat had suddenly gone silent, hops over to see. Gyarados and Weavile exchange confused glances when the crow's beak falls open. 

The paper carries a faint but unmistakable saline scent. Sand trickles down its creases, fine grains sparkling in the sun. 

Cyrus slowly turns his head. "This… this is…" He's breathing rather than talking. "You… You kept the Wonder Map."

"I should've thrown it away," the child growls. "It's just paper." Then he lowers his voice. "But it'll be a waste of a tree."

_A waste of time and effort._ Cyrus wretches his gaze back to the forgotten memory.

 _Waterfall Cave,_ written in jittery letters with no structure nor consistency. A drawing of said waterfall above its name. _Hot Springs. Drenched Bluff. Amp Plains… Miracle Sea,_ written in type. "X's" and "O's" scribbled with crayon, marking off locations explored and those yet to be charted. "?" surrounding the three lakes. In the bottom, a compass composed of around geometrical suns and moons. 

_Fiction coexisting alongside reality._

"Nyee." Two wings rest on his arm, stilling the trembling. A low growl beside his ear. 

"I'm sorry," the boy whispers, moving to take the map away.

"Don't." The boy blinks. Cyrus keeps his fingers on his temples until his vision clears. "It's… it's fine. It's still a functional map. Its job is to display coordinates with prominent physical landmarks to better orient the user…

"I digress. Here--" _next to Miracle Sea "—_ is Canalave City. After… ahem, after Canalave, I sought work up here—" _next to Blizzard Island "—_ Snowpoint City, where I encountered Sneasel. And I have yet to repay that individual who spared his kindness on me…"

His fingers glide across the yellowed surface, brushing against the fabric of time itself. "Then I moved here… and here… Ah, and here. This was where Saturn joined. The perpetual rain in this city provides a rich environment for diverse Pokemon to gather. That's where Croagunk was caught." The boy leans inwards. "And here, in the town where flowers bloomed unrestrained, was where Mars joined. We still have yet to locate her family, however."

"And that's where Jupiter joined."

"Correct. Excellent observation." The light seems to glow a little brighter. "Hearthome City… or the Crossroads of Sinnoh, as some call it, due to its geographical accessibility. Not only Jupiter, but B-2, R-8...

"And this was my home, Veilstone City. The--

"—site where our dream came true," the boy finishes. Something rekindles in Cyrus's prison of ice. Rays of sunlight sweep into those confines, opening doors and awakening that flickering flame.

And for the first time in a long, long while, there is warmth within his heart. 

"B-2, get your butt of the ball!" A Grunt yells from below.

"Sir." _Sir, he calls me._ It takes a good minute for Cyrus to actually acknowledge that the boy had spoken. "Can humans really eat poffins?"

"Of course. There was a time when I had to rely on poffins as my only source of sustenance. They're perfectly edible, I assure you."

"They taste better than those cans of tomato sauce. It's been a while since I've eaten chicken soup. And that gateau. I can't match his…" Those words trail off into a lapse. The boy had dropped his gaze. Cyrus senses the tension in the air and shifts. 

"I miss Grandfather," the boy croaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

The paper slips from the man's grip. His mouth opens. And closes. He inhales, but the air becomes trapped in his throat. Coldness is his stomach, his chest… Helpless. Powerless. Weak. Incomplete. Bitter sentimentality festering like nights alone in his room, with his arms around his knees, huddled against the wall as he waited for summertime to come. 

"I'm sorry."

The boy looks up and says, "Why are _you_ apologizing?" The man blinks. He doesn't have an answer, so he just turns away.

**_Knock. Knock._** Cyrus pulls the blanket over the boy's chest when the door opens.

"Cyrus," Jupiter hums, casting a stern but kind glance to his face. "It's a wonderful day outside. Do you want to—"

She barely moves her lips when a visitor barrels into the room, slamming the door against the wall and destroying Cyrus's eardrums. 

The boy gasps. Cyrus squints to see… bows. Billowing hair of a light color. When revelation sinks into his brain, his eyes snap open so forcefully that he feels something crack in his neck.

"That's Zubat and Murkrow!" The girl jabs a finger to his direction. That voice ricochets in his skull. "Akagi, it's you! I've finally found you!"

* * *

There it is. The Old Chateau. Once upon a time, before the rise of the Berlitz family, there was another descendant of wealth that made this place his home. Modeled after classical Kalosian architecture, the Chateau was meant as a lavish escape from the rest of the world. But alas, glory faded over time, and the shell of a dream is all that is known today.

Grunts are playing in the lawn, kicking a can around with enough energy of a heated Unovan football match. Maybe even more fired-up than that. They're running everywhere, crossing to extremes of a field with Pokemon flailing about in excitement. Fortunately, the serenity of the forest swallows such tell-tale sounds of life before they reach the outside world.

The door opens when Cynthia gives the password. Grunts greet her cheerfully as she crosses that threshold and into the sunlit manor.

_Huh. You can feel the energy today. I wonder what's up?_

"Welcome, Champion Cynthia," R-8 hums. She's standing on her tippy-toes. "Mars and Saturn are playing outside, if you're interested. I'm just getting refreshments for everyone."

"I'll think about it. Thanks, R-8." The Grunt nods and goes to resume her duty. Cynthia stares at the balcony, where that person resides on the second floor.

_Grandma's methods may be unorthodox, but I'm awake now._ She slaps her cheeks. Some Grunts notice this but say nothing. _Okay. Today is a new day, Cynthia. You're the hero of Sinnoh. You're not a child anymore—_

"I'm not?"

 _Huh?_ Cynthia whirls around—and exhales a sigh of relief. _Oh. It's just Shirona. Damn, my imagination must've gotten out of hand—_

"This place feels strange." Shirona's golden hair refracts in the light. Her little chest heaves with a deep inhale, and she sneezes with such a realism that Cynthia flinches. The girl shifts, and the floorboards creak. There is a definite shadow under her feet.

_What the hell._ Cynthia slaps herself again. Shirona raises an eyebrow before reaching out to grab the woman's wrist.

The latter's jaw drops to the floor.

"Hmm…" Shirona looks at her fingers. Sweeps her denim dress, expelling dust motes to the floor. "Well. No one's yelling about there being a child in this place, so I guess that you're the only one who sees me." Just to prove it, Shirona sneaks up to a Grunt and jumps into his face. His Clefairy yelps, but he tells it to calm down and gives it a baby bottle. 

_Grandma, I've made a terrible mistake. My guilty conscience is biting me in the ass—_

"Cynthia."

"W-What?" No one's minding the fact that the Champion of Sinnoh is talking to the empty spot beside her.

The girl bites her lips. Cynthia even hears the faint scratch of teeth against skin. "Grandma's yelling had got me thinking… do you remember when we had that same discussion?"

Cynthia blinks. Shirona twists a strand of hair. "During one of the summers," she specifies, "when we walked back together. I told him about my dream. Do you remember what he said?"

_"You don't have to worry about that, Cynthia."_ Her mouth moves on its own. The woman blinks again. She closes her eyes, and she sees those waves lapping against the shoreline. The skies were blue, despite the fact that it was nearing dusk.

_"You're the strongest person that I know_ ," the boy was saying, his voice loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves. " _Not to mention that you're very courageous and kind."_

_He froze. "I-I meant. Well. T-That's what I think, at least."_

Cynthia remembers the heat coursing to her face. Remembers how the sun was right in front of her, yet it never burnt her. It never hurt her. 

_"Oh. Um. T-Thanks." She was looking at anything other than his eyes. "Cyrus."_

_"I'm sorry." He pulled his collar over his mouth as they walked. His ears were glowing brighter than the stars above. "Erm. Cynthia?"_

_"Y-Yeah?"_

_"I am curious. Your dream that you told me… What aspired you to want to become a hero?"_

_She gave him a big toothy grin. He raised his sleeves. "Because I want to help people and Pokemon," was the high-pitched response. "I'll have to be strong enough to kick the bad guys into jail where they belong."_

_Cyrus nodded. "And the Champion is the strongest Trainer one can ever hope to be."_

_"Yup." She giggled. "The Champion right now is so cool. I want to grow up like that someday… a hero. Protecting everyone I care about, serving justice in the morning and coming back to dinner with my family and friends."_

_Cyrus's gaze lingered on the blanket flaring down her shoulders. Her makeshift cape when they'd go exploring. "You'll get a lot of attention, Cynthia"_

_"I know! Then everyone will notice how strong I am!" Her brain failed to register the edge in his tone. Failed to see the ice behind his eyes._

_"Fame is a double-edged sword, Cynthia," Cyrus muttered with all the seriousness of an adult's. "I've read novels on this phenomenon, Cynthia. The purest of intentions can distort beyond recognition." He gave a stern look, and she suddenly felt very small, despite the fact that she was slightly taller than him. "These delusions of grandeur might blind you to what's really important… and you might unintentionally hurt those that you're trying to protect."_

_Cynthia blinked. Cyrus shook his head. "Just… promise me that you'll be careful."_

_"Of c-o-u-r-s-e, Cyrus! " She elbowed his side. It was meant as an innocent gesture, but the boy blanched and stopped walking. "I'll never let fame into my head! I'll be the Champion, remember?" Then the girl realized that there was no boy beside her, and she turned around._

_"I'm… I'm sorry," he grunted, giving her a shaky smile as he shuffled forward. "I'm… I’m sure you'll be the strongest Trainer in the land."_

_Cynthia grinned. His face softened when he saw that, and he straightened somewhat._

_"Oh yeah. Cyrus." He titled his head. "What goes on in your mind when you think of a hero?"_

_Cyrus stared at her for a second too long before wrenching his gaze to the sands beneath his feet. "That's… an interesting question," he mumbled. "I haven't really given it much thought…"_

_He noticed her staring. "Ah, my apologies. Well… A hero has to possess physical prowess and charisma to be adored by millions, right? They must be brave, kind, respectful…"_

_Then his voice dropped. "But to me, they must also be a hero within themselves. Yes, they must be strong enough to protect those that they cherish, but they must also be aware of their limitations to learn from their mistakes. They must be prepared to live with the consequences of their actions._

_"If you go about being a hero, Cynthia, there will be times when you're forced to make a decision that can alter everyone's story." She frowned. "One person's life, for example, or the fate of the whole world? If that day comes, will you be able to choose, Cynthia? And will you be able to justify your choice?" Her frown deepened. Cyrus shook his head._

_"Being a hero is not a game, Cynthia. It's a burdensome responsibility. There will be times when you're bombarded by negativity, your own internal conflicts, your own biases… but you'll have to cast that aside for the sake of protecting something much, much bigger than you."_

_He's fidgeting with his hands again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to belittle you. The path that you're about to take is so uncertain that I… I… erm… I don't know what will happen… to… erm…"_

"I told him that I'll be fine." Shirona's voice brings the present back into reality. Gone are the starlit skies, the golden sands, the humid breeze of the beach. "I told him that he was overthinking again. Typical Cyrus." Her shoulders droop. "And he had to chase me to apologize for 'spoiling my fun.'

"But look at us now. He was right, wasn't he? He was always right, and I always took him for granted."

All the saliva had evaporated from Cynthia's mouth.

A hand grips her sleeve. Cynthia gapes down at the determined little girl. "We need to talk to him," she declares boldly. "He's been waiting for a long time. Come on, Cynthia! You're not getting any younger!"

"You're just like Grandma," she mumbles as the girl leads her up the stairs. Grunts make way without batting an eye, as if they've seen stranger things in this haunted mansion.

* * *

The girl runs past Jupiter. The older woman frowns when she sees the door slamming open on its own, when something brushes past her fingers.

"Excuse me, Jupiter." The older woman moves aside for the caretaker of that child.

"Akagi!" The little girl is pointing to the man on the bed. "Akagi!" she exclaims, turning to Cynthia. "I found him! I found Akagi!"

Cynthia looks up to match Cyrus's shocked face from beyond that curtain of sunlight.

_It's like a cape._

"Um." _Gee, what's the best way of putting this without it sounding like I'm making fun of him…_ "Uh. Um."

_We really need to get you out of here before we all lose our damn minds._

Shirona is tugging at Cynthia's hand. _Damn, this brat is strong._ "Look! Look!"

Cynthia glances around the room. _There's Jupiter, but she doesn't seem at all surprised. Welp._ "I know, I know!" she hisses to the girl. "Stop yelling!"

"Why? No one can see me anyway. Except for you."

"Even so! You're so loud!"

Springs shift. Cyrus's head snaps up. "U-Um! Sorry, Cyrus. I was just… um…" _I was just talking to myself. Haha, just like you, you certified nutjob. Am I doing it right?_ "Um…"

Cyrus is glaring at her. Such a dark, icy glare that stilsl the blood in her veins. There's a large gap on the bed, the blanket draped across the empty space on his left. Shirona stumbles forward, but the blizzard pushes her back into Cynthia's chest.

"No…" Shirona is shaking her head. "No, don't… Akagi, no…"

Cynthia sees the damp floorboards. _Did he spill soup? But it doesn’t smell like food in here… it smells like… seawater._

"Akagi!" Cynthia recoils. She fails to see Cyrus flinching as well, his hand shooting up to his ears. "Akagi, where are you?" The girl's head is whipping around the room. To the door. To the open windows and his surprised Pokemon.

"Akagi left, Cynthia," the girl gasps. "He… he…"

Cynthia steadies the girl before her knees can crumble. "He's right there," the woman says softly, smoothly. Shirona still doesn't look convinced. She's glaring at the walls, as if there was a body hidden in there.

_Stop it, Cynthia._ Speaking of which, she realizes that they have company: the man that's waiting for them.

"Cyrus," Cynthia says deliberately. His frown deepens. _Oops._ "I'm sorry for that. I have no intention of mocking you."

Cyrus scowls. He covers the object that he was looking at before the girl barged in. _A paper?_ He presses his temples, sighs, and straightens.

"Good morning, Champion Cynthia."

_Huh?!_ Both jaws drop. Jupiter quirks an eyebrow, but she remains silent. Watchful.

_Work, brain, work!_ "G-Good afternoon. Uh. Cyrus."

Cyrus's brows furrow. He squints outside the window. A warm breeze brushes his silvery hair. "Oh. I apologize, Champion Cynthia." He returns his gaze. "Good afternoon."

A silence. Shirona's rubbing her eyes. Cynthia gapes at the man that's bathed in sunlight and slaps herself.

"You shouldn't hurt yourself like that," he says in that familiar monotone. "You'll damage your skin."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me."

"O-Okay. Sorry."

Another silence.

"I'm looking into possible causes of this phenomenon," Cyrus mumbles, his gaze fixed to the clear blue skies. _What is he—oh._ "I can't guarantee that I'll deliver an appropriate hypothesis on time, but I'll try."

"Oh. Thank you. Cyrus." _You're taking this seriously._

Leaves rustle in the forest beyond ancient doors. Starly perch on the windowsill, heads cocked in curiosity. Cyrus raps his fingers against his arm cast.

"You said that Uxie only erased memories of Fogbound Lake."

The breath comes in too suddenly. "U-Um." _No, focus._ "Yes, that's true, Cyrus. But I… I went to Sunyshore."

His shoulders stiffen. He's gripping at that hidden parchment until his knuckles quiver.

"I see." He gives her a sideways look, his jaw set in a painful grimace. She breathes through her mouth. _Wait, where's Shirona? Did she run off somewhere?_

Honchkrow patters to his side. "Did you know that all Murkrow share a penchant of shiny objects, Champion Cynthia?"

Jupiter is still in the extremes of her vision. "Yes…" _Where was he going with this?_ "The head of the flock make the Murkrow bring it treasures, lest they be punished."

"Stellar observation, Champion Cynthia." Honchkrow gives her a wry smirk. 

Cyrus is grooming the bird's feathers, his long fingers sifting through its luminous down. "'The Summoner of Night,' as Honchkrow was often referred to in ancient mythology. Even today, his reputation lives." He's talking to his crow. "A flock of crows… a murder of crows… crows are remarkable creatures, do you think?"

Cynthia jams her fists into her pockets. "Yes. They're extremely intelligent birds. Professor Rowan once told me that crows never forget faces."

Cyrus stops his petting. He shifts so their gazes can connect.

Then Honchkrow moves to his lap. "I've been thinking... About what you said, Champion Cynthia, while at your excursion at Foggy Forest. You told me that there were two statues, correct? Do you mind repeating those inscriptions?"

She complies to his strange request. Cyrus absorbs that information with a nod. "And your White Moonstone managed to lift the fog… Do you think that it was coincidence that the path to the Time Gear showed itself after you presented your treasure?"

Cynthia's heart is racing again, a sensation that she hadn't felt in a long, long time. Shortness of breath, tingling warmth spreading down her toes. "What are you thinking, Cyrus?"

Cyrus snaps his fingers—and winces ever so slightly. Honchkrow opens its beak. "During my research, I recall coming across that particular inscription on the White Moonstone… although what it was exactly…" He grimaces. "However, there are grounds to believe that those relics and the Time Gears are connected. It's still conjecture, but it's a lead nonetheless, and I wish to expand on it."

Her heart is sprinting marathons now, slamming against her ribcage. Honchkrow is coughing into Cyrus's open palm.

"As you know, crows often horde shiny objects." Something is protruding from Honchkrow's beak. Something red and solid. "Unfortunately, Murkrow have a tendency to swallow their spoils to avoid theft amongst its mob."

And with an agonizing hack, the crow expels said shiny object. The room instantly explodes into light, beams wafting in rainbow streams to even the tiniest corners of the room. And warmth. Unrivaled, buttery warmth blasting to her face like heat of the summer sun.

When her eyes adjust to the glare, there's something flickering in Cyrus's outstretched hand.

"What the hell," she hears Jupiter mutter from someplace far, far away. Cyrus stares at the object as if he's peering into the stars.

"Like I said, you have my full cooperation, Champion Cynthia." She can't place the look on his face, but something is most definitely animated within his eyes. "If even the shrewdest of leads can progress our cause, then by all means, I'll take it so you can bring about your happy ending."

Cyrus holds up the Red Sunstone, prompting Cynthia to reach for her White Moonstone as well. Those peculiar inscriptions begin to blink, lighting out of cadence until the glows pulsate as one.

Elsewhere in the world, a multicolored geyser fizzles. A Pokemon turns, its eyes cracking open to the source of the light.

_"It is time,"_ says the Guardian of Knowledge. _"Come, Mesprit. Azelf. There is much work to be done."_

And even farther away, in a land beyond the skies and seas, a set of crimson eyes emerge from the darkness of a crumbling tower.


	32. The Old Chateau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B-2 invites everyone to a ghost hunt. Cynthia puts two-and-two together, and she'll need Cyrus's help once again. A familiar face returns. Secrets are unveiled.

"There she is!"

Cynthia had barely lifted a foot when the Grunts swarm in like a horde of Combee to honey. "W-What's going on?" she yelps.

"Stand down, everyone! Give her some space!"

"B-2, what's happening?"

R-8 shoves her face into the wide-eyed Champion's own. "So is it true?" she whispers with a sort of grudging awe. "You two used to be… you know…" She wiggles her pinkie.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Heads turn to the stairway. Saturn grits his teeth. "Watch your tongue, R-8!" he snaps.

"S-Saturn…"

Mars gently interjects. "W-What he meant was, um…"

"It was a silly childhood thing," Jupiter says from the balcony. She twists a strand of curly hair around her fingernail. "He's still a boy, after all. It's normal to have a one-sided admiration."

Cynthia looks away, cheeks flushed. Jupiter sucks in a low breath. "I was right, wasn't I? He always _did_ have a soft spot for you, Cynthia. If I even said _one_ bad thing about you, he'd counter with two compliments about 'prowess' and 'inner strength' and all that mushy fluff."

R-8 tests the mood before speaking. "So what happened?"

Cynthia purses her lips. "We grew up," she mutters, golden curtain cast across her face. Her hands palm the White Moonstone. "Time stopped for us a long time ago…"

Then she lifts her head. "But I'm here to fix that. I made a mistake, and it's only natural that I make amends. As the Champion of Sinnoh, it's my duty to protect the people that I… I'll protect everyone, I swear it on my title."

"That's so brave," R-8 sighs. B-2 happens to turn—to catch Saturn's scoff and his rolling eyes.

Mars has been considering something in her head. "You know…" She instinctively wrings the hem of her sleeves. "Isn't it scary? If things had gone _just_ a bit differently, who _knows_ what could've happened?"

_"If you would've stayed with him, then what would've happened to us?"_ B-2 hears those unspoken words.

The walls absorb that thought. Cynthia's shoulders are stiff. R-8 has her pensive face. B-2's absently scratching his hip just to make noise.

"Excuse me, miss Cynthia," says the Grunt with a fanatical fascination with rocks. _Dude had six million Poke set aside from his rock collection._ "Your White Moonstone… may I see it again?"

"Oh. Sure."

"Fascinating…" The rookie geologist taps the engraved inscription. "White Moonstone. Red Sunstone. To think that its counterpart was in Cyrus's possession all this time…" He lifts an eyebrow. "What was that glow all about, I wonder?"

Cynthia holds her treasure up to the soft sunlight. "I'm not sure, but I know that we're making progress. The sooner we solve this mystery; the sooner we'll uncover the truth behind the planet's paralysis."

"Are you going back to Foggy Forest?" Mars mutters.

"No. We have to proceed with caution, now that the world's mobilizing against…" She tries again. "And I’m certain that Dialga's forces saw that glow, whatever it was. And besides, Cyrus says to hold off on that until he comes up with a concrete plan."

"That's our doc." B-2 nudges his fellow Grunt with his ass. She slaps him (on the cheeks on his face), but it's all in good faith.

Cynthia giggles. B-2 grins. "Oh," she says. "How's Cyrus? Is he sleeping?"

Jupiter juts her chin to the hallway behind her. "Hah! As if. No, he's in his room… well, it's technically the office now. He's flying through all those notebooks that you got for him, Cynthia. He didn't even notice me until I got in front of his face."

B-2 can imagine his young boss, hunched over papers, that feather pen scrawling furiously across blank pages as if he's sentencing lives to death while eating potato chips. It could've been another day at Headquarters—with the Grunts goofing about, Saturn playing video games on his office computer… Cyrus's surprise inspection that usually ended in harsh berating and everyone scrambling to actually do their jobs.

Evil eyes bear on his spine. B-2 cringes, only to realize that the subject of that ire is addressed to the person in front of him.

"If I hadn't met him…"

_What?_

"What?" Cynthia grunts. Saturn's lips twist, but he merely shakes his head.

"If you hadn't abandoned him, then I wouldn't even be here in the first place. He's my…" Saturn drops his voice to a barely audible whisper, but B-2 happens to hear it. "He means everything to me. And you know what, Champion of Sinnoh? Maybe you actually did _something_ right. Maybe it _was_ better that things unfolded the way that they did."

* * *

R-8 is showcasing her newly befriended Gastly when the roof begins to shake. No _._ Not the roof. The balcony. A dull thump. A strangled gasp. The indistinct shrieking of the Ghosts.

Jupiter sprints from the kitchen, flying across the two flights of stairs with a single leap. Her face blanches at the sight. "Cyrus!" she snaps. B-2 gestures everyone up the stairs. "Cyrus, I leave you alone for _one_ second, and… _What the hell are you doing?!"_

Cyrus's lips move, but he's too preoccupied with keeping consciousness to maintain a steady voice. He's holding onto the wall for dear life, his nails sinking into the chipping paint.

"Boss!" Saturn and Mars rush forward. "Boss, you need to rest!"

"Enough… resting." Cyrus scowls. His usual intimidation is hampered by his current state, but there's that cold, stubborn determination in those eyes. "Let… me help too…."

"NO!"

Cyrus jerks his head to the side, cringing at the sudden rise in voice. "Let me pass, Sa—" Then blue eyes descend upon rich earth. "Champion… Cynthia…" He offers a stiff nod that throws his balance completely off. Jupiter catches him before he hurts himself. Again. She snaps her fingers. Tangrowth looms over the two of them, its vine-like hands outreached as if it's preparing for a magic show.

Cyrus squints at the Pokemon. Tangrowth gives a timid smile. Then his eyes widen. "No…" he gasps. "No, you wouldn't dare—"

"Tangrowth, Sleep Powder."

"Commander Ju--!"

Consciousness slips from his grip like a runaway balloon. Luckily, he lands into Jupiter's waiting bosom. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she hisses to the accompanying Pokemon. Weavile whimpers. Honchkrow grabs at its fedora, and Crobat hides behind its wings.

"His legs…" R-8 mutters.

A doctor Grunt rifles through the papers of her clipboard. "The… the injuries sustained from that lightning strike was by no means small… BUT!" Everyone perks up. "But he's showing significant improvement. He's a fighter, this ki—our boss. It's a miracle that he's still…" She clears her throat. "But whether he walks again is still up in the air."

Those words trail off into a heavy silence.

Then Jupiter clicks her teeth. "I'll take care of this idiot." She tests his forehead. "You lot, look after the mansion."

"Yes, ma'am."

When the oldest Galactic Commander leaves, Saturn sags back to the wall. Mars attempts to console him, but he's clearly too upset to appreciate her.

R-8 whirls back to the somber group. "Hey, let's catch Cynthia up on our Adventure Log."

Cynthia blinks. "Adventure Log...?"

B-2 nods. "You know of the Seven Wonders of Sinnoh, don't you? We've also been launching our own investigation into the Wonders of the Old Chateau."

Cynthia leans in, her eyes shining like a little child's. B-2 smirks and ushers the circle to link a bit tighter. Mars is staring at them, but she can't leave Saturn alone, so B-2 uses his best non-library voice so everyone can hear him.

"They say…" _No, gotta use my best scary story persona._ "They say that with every haunted household is a sealed room… and behind that wall… is something that should never see the light of day, lest we be risking a terrible, terrible calamity…"

"A curse," Cynthia correctly summarizes.

A stream of clouds passes through the skies, sucking the pools of sunlight into its bleak horizon. Some Grunts are shivering. B-2 feels his cheeks clenching as well.

R-8's new Gastly friend giggles when she holds up two fingers. "There's also… the mysterious third floor. It's too slippery to climb up from the outside… but as you all know, there's a third story… but there's no staircase leading to such a floor…"

The roof creaks. R-8 points excitedly to the sound. "At night, some have reported footsteps…but it doesn't follow the regular rhythm of walking. We've theorized that it could be one of two things, maybe both: someone is dancing up there, or they want us out of their home."

In the extremes of his vision, B-2 sees a pale-faced Saturn with his fingernails jammed up his teeth. _No doubt he's listening, that scaredy-Glameow._

"And those strange pictures," huffs another Grunt. "We've covered most of them up, but… I swear, they come to life at night."

The picture above the gargoyle statue had been indeed covered up by tarp. That statue had been refurbished to sport a Galactic beanie and red lipstick.

R-8 claps her hands, starling a few Grunts. "Oh yes, and there's that case with a mysterious notebook in one of the rooms…"

"Yes," picks up a Grunt with a Clefairy held tightly in his arms. "I've passed by that room a few times, and…" He swallows—hard. "And sometimes the notebook would be open. Sometimes it's closed… as if someone had been reading it…."

Saturn's thumping heart can be heard from the nearest wall.

"Aside from whatever's down there in the basement, that brings me to another curious discovery." It's still fresh in B-2's mind, horrifyingly enough. "In one of these rooms is an old TV—the big, bulky kind. It's clearly broken, but when I passed through one day—you know, doin' my rounds and such—it was on. But it was showing static. So I thought to myself, 'Oh! Silly Grunts! They were just messing around, Mwahahaha!'"

"But no one owned up to it," R-8 murmurs.

B-2 nods slowly, his face unusually grim. "So I did a stupid and returned to check it out. The static… was just static, but I _swore_ that I saw something move in the screen. When I got closer…

"It was a face. Not a human face, but _something_ was looking at me, and I saw _teeth._ I decided that my life was much more important than science so I scrammed before that thing could possess my ass."

The audience is pressed tightly upon themselves, huddled like pools of sardines. Above the rooftop, the clouds march onward, plunging the mansion in shadow. Driftloon pass through the walls and out the other side.

"What happened next?" Cynthia whispers.

B-2 looks at her a bit before continuing. "When I came back, the TV was off. I poked around—because you know, I was _dying_ to… okay, okay, stop booing—and I saw that the outlet had been damaged a long, long time ago. There was no physical way that the TV was working it hasn't been plugged in for quite some time."

A silence. Phantasmal eyes press down on the terror-struck group of blue and that lone splotch of gold. **_BAM!_** A door slams from somewhere in the mansion, sending everyone into a panic until a human voice— _definitely human—_ rings down the hallway.

"Cyrus, I turn my back for one second, and you're on the damn floor _again?!"_

B-2 exchanges a glance with R-8. A brief scuffle ensures. Indistinct voices, but one of them is clearly not happy, that much is for certain.

"That's it. Crobat, Supersonic. Shut up, Cyrus, I'm not talking to you! It's for his own good, Crobat! Supersonic, now!"

Then it's silent once again.

"Oh yeah, and Cyrus can see ghosts," B-2 adds helpfully.

The clouds finally dissipate, returning stolen sunlight to the manor once more. Broken rainbows dance across faded walls. Jupiter walks out with a hand on her face, her hair a wild, unruly mess.

"What's happening down there?" she grunts.

"We're telling ghost stories," R-8 says, unsure of whether to smile or not.

Mars look up to the older woman. "How's Master Cyrus, Jupiter?"

Jupiter makes a face. "Sleeping. It took three Sleep Powders and a Supersonic to hold him down." She sighs into her palm. "You know, sometimes I _do_ wonder if he's even human at all…"

She waves that aside. "Since Cynthia's here, why don't you all explore the mansion? See if you can unearth the truth behind the Wonders… if there _is_ any." A faint smirk tugs at her lips. "And it's not like we're going anywhere soon…"

B-2 bobs his ass. "That is a _booty-licious_ idea, Commander Jupiter!" Some colleagues smack him. "We're basically squatting here anyway. Might as well explore this thing inside out!"

"Let's see…" He does a quick headcount. "I saw we split up. Cover more ground this way, and we're all in earshot if anyone needs help. Remember to use the buddy system, everyone!"

"Let's go check out that TV," R-8 tells him.

Mars bounces to her toes. "Ooh, ooh! Let me in, let me in!"

"Um…"

B-2 turns to the timid Champion. "You can join us if you want," he says gently. "The more the merrier." That look on her face seals the deal, and he can't help but chuckle.

Mars pokes at the grim young man on her left. "You too, Saturn. Join our ghost hunt. Go with Cynthia."

"WHAT?!" His neck snaps up with incredible speed. _Ouch._ "That is the _worst_ idea you could've ever—"

"Then I guess you don’t give a damn about Dad then!"

The color drains from his face. _Double ouch._ "W-What?! N-No! I-I mean… I-I-I… FINE!" he roars, and Mars brightens immediately.

"Great!" she yells. "I'm going with the Grunts! To check out third floor! You two! Check! OUT THE NOTEBOOK!"

"WHY ARE YOU YELLING IN MY FACE?!"

B-2 releases his ears. "Let's go, everyone!" He herds the group to their assigned missions. Saturn's fuming in the background, but his protests are quickly drowned out by stomping boots and needless, mindless chatter.

* * *

Then it's just them. Saturn tugs at his hair, prepares his breath, and slowly cranes his neck to face his assigned traveler partner.

Cynthia gives him a timid smile. "H-Hello. Saturn."

"Let's just get this over with." He brushes past the custom-tailored fur coat. "The Old Notebook's down there."

They enter the ground hallway. _Don't look up, don't look up…_ He successfully passes the grotesque painting without looking up.

_I did it, Master Cyrus!_ But out loud, he offers a faint "You go first."

Something crumples under his foot. It's a very crisp crunch. _HOLY ARCEUS_ —Saturn blacks out for approximately three seconds—he counted. And fortunately, only he knows of this scandal.

"It's a note," Cynthia says.

"I-I know that!" Saturn gingerly scoops up the piece of papers with his fingernails. He slowly turns it around, and the biggest sigh of the century leaves his throat once he realizes that it wasn't dripping with red ink… nor does it say ' **Do not look'** in the back.

"What does it say?" Cynthia presses.

Saturn scowls, but he squints at the faded sheet of paper. Aside from his footprint and the obvious age that had degraded the fibers, he manages to make out a curious message.

"Som… hing so pecu…r shou… make off… ith the mot…"

**_HOLY ARCEUS._** Saturn almost hurls that sheet into Cynthia's face. Almost. He has some decency, at least.

"Something about a motor," Cynthia mutters, a finger tapping her chin. "But what is this 'something peculiar?'"

"D-Does it matter?" _Why is it so damn cold in here?! Am I the only one that feels this???!_ "L-Let's g-go!"

The door is closed. It's a wooden door just like the rest, but this one is scrawled with darkened crayon(?), the color flaking off to the floor. _A type of flower… grass. Balloons. A dancing figure under a circle with lines coming out of it…_

"Okay, it's locked." Saturn pats himself on the back. "No one's home. Let's go—"

Cynthia grabs the doorknob, much to Saturn's dismay. A wall of dust collapses on his head. She waves the musty air aside and proceeds into the small guestroom. Saturn calms his thrashing heart— _It'sforMasterCyrusit'sforBossit'sforDad—_ and enters.

A closet. A desk. Typical furnishings. Cynthia checks the closets. Nothing. The bed is still made and luckily, there's no imprint of a body or anything on its dusty sheets. "It was a beautiful flower." Saturn follows her gaze to the murky flower vase on the desk. A crumbled brown thing, shriveled to the husk. Blackened petals that once held color and life.

A twinge of sadness enters the safety of his heart.

Saturn barely turns when the Old Notebook slams shut. His legs move on their own.

"Saturn, don't run away!"

"I'M NOT!" He cries from behind the wall. "D-Didn't you see t-that?!" _How is she so unfazed?! Is she even human??!!_ "T-The N-Notebook!"

"It's just the wind, Saturn."

"T-There's no wind if the windows are locked!" Cynthia frowns. Saturn shakes his head. "What are you doing?" he hisses. "Don't open it!"

"The mystery won't solve itself, Saturn." Cynthia sweeps the feathers off the cover. She's excited, much to his exasperation. _Oh Arceus, if she dies…_ Saturn drags himself across that threshold of safety.

_Huh._ There's nothing special about the Old Notebook, aside from the face that it's obviously old. It's just something that you can get from any major retailer selling office supplies.

Cynthia opens the book. When Saturn regains consciousness, the woman is still standing there. In one piece. Not bleeding or missing a limb or anything.

"Look at this, Saturn." Cynthia shows him the pages. _It's still legible. Whoever wrote this must've been conserving paper._ Cynthia flips through said yellowed pages. "It's… it's a diary, Saturn. Look. The date… it's been about two decades ago…"

Saturn glances over his shoulder. "Great. It's relatively new. We got what we came for. Let's go."

But Cynthia is staring at the penmanship. One can see the gears cranking in her head. "Wait a minute," she mumbles. "This is…"

"What?"

Cynthia taps the Old Notebook. "Don't you want to read it, Saturn? It could be someone who knows the in-and-outs of the Old Chateau."

"No!" Saturn steps closer. "No!" He crosses his arms, waiting.

Cynthia's lips tug. "Okay. The first entry, dated the summer of two decades ago, is where the story begins…"

* * *

_I was recommended this notebook as a thought experiment. These second-order observations would serve me well in the long run, regardless of there being no benefits to such a task… However, the prospect of presenting a finished notebook excited me, thus spurring me to continue my task…_

_My life is uninteresting. Why should I record such normalcy? What I ate, what I wore… Information like this are useless down the line._

_However, I wish to recount a series of curious events that happened to me during a stay at Eterna City. It was summertime, a season of symposium conferences and contract negotiations. Would it not be more efficient if I had remained behind? I had left my friends, as I couldn't risk… Three months would be over before I knew it._

_During the times when I wasn't needed, I took advantage of exploring Eterna City. "History Living," "The town that ties the past to now," as locals called it. I see now, why this notebook was necessary: there's just so much to see, much to note…_

_For instance, an enthusiastic elderly man offered me a kit to traverse underground. It was difficult to utilize: how was I to dig a hole on public property? Nevertheless, I promised him that I would find use for it eventually…_

_Another man offered me a bicycle—an older model, but nonetheless sturdy. I lacked the proper means of affording the luxury item. In addition, they would not be pleased to see it in my possession…_

* * *

_A week had given me ample time to familiarize myself with this city. A majority of my time was passed in the archives, in the condominiums where I listened to recounts of lore, the latter never ceasing to fill me with wonder. Much of Eterna City legend, according to the locals, revolved around the statue in the center of the city. However, there were varied accounts in which Pokemon was actually depicted. Perhaps it was an amalgamation of two separate Pokemon instead, a distortion of myth recording… Nevertheless, the locals all agreed upon the faded inscription: "The Birth of P… The Creation of D…" having certain associations with Space and Time themselves._

_Truly fascinating. I felt as if I was on the verge of an archaeological discovery!_

_A feeling of mischief got the better of me one day. While on my usual rounds, I dared to venture beyond the gates. Eterna Forest had held my interest ever since I stepped foot into the city. There was something extremely intriguing about its maze of trees… I felt as if a great secret slept just beyond my reach…_

_If I could describe with words, it would similar to stepping into another world. Spirited away, to put it bluntly. The forest's Pokemon seemed to find me interesting, as they followed me for the longest time. They consisted of a walking bud, bagworms, caterpillars, cocoons, bees, butterflies… a trove of wonderful new Pokemon that I had the honor to witness. I followed them as a foolhardy child would, never looking back once as I entered the jaws of the forest…_

_With the sweet scent of honey in the air, colors blurred to a vast expanse of the truest green. The canopy was thick enough to only allow sunlight to touch the ground… Time was lost; I was certain of that. The question came to how much time was lost. Following the sun proved futile, as the skies were darkening at a much faster rate than the appointed sunset for summer…_

_I was late, and the consequences for that…_

_In an effort to return to the parent road, I took an accidental detour to a path of wild roses on my right and white tulips on my left. Flowers must mean civilization, as I had erroneously thought. There was now thunder, accompanied with the scent of precipitation. I managed to seek refuge below a porch before the first raindrops fell._

_There was a mansion in the heart of Eterna Forest. Moreover, it held the appearance of being abandoned decades, even centuries ago. The door opened before I even raised my hand. The storm held priority over suspicion. It was unusually chilly, for summer weather. The sun was nowhere to be spotted._

_After weighing my options, I decided, with heavy heart, to venture into the mansion. It was dry inside, but it was still very cold. My best chance of preserving body heat was to press onward before fatigue overwhelmed me…_

_There was a candle on the floor, lit by unseen hands. My curiosity and natural desire for warmth got the best of me, and I neared that source of light._

_There appeared to be a chemical trace in the air. Potassium chloride? Copper chloride? A certain reaction must be responsible for that oddly-colored hue of the flames, as how else would flames burn such a vivid color? I've heard that airborne particles often lingered in older buildings. There was a chance that there was lead in the walls, yet there was no discerning smell._

_I was suddenly overwhelmed with an overpowering lethargy. It was an unprecedented exhaustion that oozed into every fiber of my being… The fire was warm, and as of that moment, it pushed the storm out of importance. Quite peculiarly, the fire burned brighter the more I stared into it, until I finally fell into the arms of unconsciousness._

* * *

"That's it?"

Cynthia blinks. Saturn is biting his lips. "That's it?" he echoes. "Why'd you stop?"

"That flame…" She's shaking her head. "That wasn't a flame at all. It was a Pokemon…"

Saturn frowns. "A Ponyta?"

"No." Her voice is grave. "When I would stay over in Unova, I recall reading about a Candle Pokemon that sucks the life energy from its victims…" She stares into the page, as if expecting the letters to come to life. "But how is…"

"S-So? Pokemon are weird." _In fact, we have a Pokemon that looks exactly like a bonsai tree._ Saturn barks out a forced laugh. "T-The poor chump had it coming. Stupid idiot fell asleep in a stupid haunted mansion!"

Cynthia has an odd look on her face. She looks down at her heels, her lips set in a tight line.

"What?" Saturn huffs.

"Who do you think wrote this, Saturn?"

He crosses his arms. "Does it matter?" A pause. "Probably someone who got lost in the woods. Not our problem."

"Saturn, what if a kid wrote this?"

_What?_ "No, that's impossible." He gives it some thought. "Although, stories of children disappearing into the woods aren't uncommon, but…" All the saliva had evaporated from his mouth. "B-But… I… Fine, _if_ it _was_ a kid who wrote this, then what is it doing, all the way up here?"

_We haven’t found a skeleton ye—_ Saturn slaps himself before that thought can bubble to consciousness. Cynthia flips to a new page. He glances behind his shoulder one more time.

"Only one way to find out," she says.

* * *

_When consciousness returned, I realized that I had been asleep on the floor. The storm had not been resolved yet, only growing worse during my slumber._

_The candle was gone, yet it was no longer needed. It was bright now. I could see the mansion, but it wasn't the same household that I had wandered into just… hours? Minutes ago? There were velvet carpets, plush and crisp as if recently steam-cleaned, chandeliers, candelabras, glimmering in the interior golden light..._

_Not a square of the building was dark nor falling apart._

_I ran back to the entrance. I swore that there was a door there before. Something was very wrong here… Either that, or I was seeing things that weren't there to begin with._

_I was all alone in this unfamiliar place. Even if I did escape, no one would believe this sheer lunacy uttered from an attention-starved child. Clutching my notebook, I headed into the chandelier-lit corridor. There were paintings, most notably those of an auspicious young lady and her family. The artist had incredible control with oil pastels, as there could've been real people behind those screens._

_Then I came across a giant room with towering windows. On the long table were plates and numerous utensils. The grandfather clock, looming high and ominous in the center of the room, pointed to around midnight. With heavy heart, I could only expect the consequences that came from my misbehavior…_

_While I was lost in my musing, I failed to hear footsteps behind me. A tall man had appeared, dressed in a vest and dinner jacket. Would it be improper to say that he was a character who stepped straight from the pages of a novel?_

_"Good evening, young master." This man had a calm, refined air to him. I looked around, expecting the guest, but there was no one in sight. "Young master." He was talking to me, strangely enough. I had no desire to be rude, so I apologized for the mistaken identity. The man seemed to find my plea intriguing, yet he bowed. To me._

_"My name is Mori," said he. His eyes were… black. Eyes like the painted portraits. "May I take your sweater, sir? What an improper butler I am, letting our guests shiver like this…" He relieved me of my damp sweater. Perhaps it's from the morbid curiosity, perhaps my want of avoiding responsibility for my disrespect, but I let him escort me to the empty dinner table. He insisted on pulling the chair out for me._

_A cook appeared as soon as I touched the fork. He brought dishes: colorful, vibrant dishes… juicy dishes that were just within arms' reach. I apologized for my stomach, but Mister Mori assured me that it was no offense at all. He was waiting for me to sit, but that would be improper, since the adults haven't arrived yet, much less finished their food. Mister Mori seemed surprised at that statement._

_Speaking of adults, they arrived, though I failed to hear such a door opening. I saw a man in a suit, an insignia pinned to his lapels. I saw a woman with a boa draped over her evening dress. A man with a straw hat, a woman with a frilly apron…_

_"So this is our guest?" said the man who sat at the head of the table. He laughed—a rich, powerful voice. "I hope this feast satiates your travels, boy."_

_The lobster was too precious to mar. The fish whose bones were picked clean, rested on a bed of aromatic rice and basil leaves. Largely unfamiliar dishes they were, and the more that realization settled in, the more I felt guilty for even being here at all._

_Then the Mistress came. A girl of similar age took the seat next to mine, next to the head of the household. Her eyes were noticeably black, doll-like, I daresay, but I remembered them being quite blue in the paintings. There was a certain regality to her, despite her age._

_"We have the same eyes." She had an accent that I cannot pinpoint. With each lift of her head, her curls bounce, and she grew even more radiant under the light. "I am Elise."_

_My stomach won't shut up. Fortunately, the man in the suit called everyone's attention before I could embarrass them. "Here, here," he announced. "Today we invite yet another wonderful guest to our humble chateau. Let us feast to celebrate this occasion!"_

_To my fright, everyone was speaking to me. I hid myself, but the adults were insistent to see my face. "This one is so thin," the maid said. "He's younger than the last one," said the gardener. "How long do you think this one will…"_

_A hand grabbed my wrist before I could excuse myself. There was something unsettling about Elise's expression._

_"Please eat," Mister Mori said. The portions were too large, and the colors hurt my eyes. Yet, I had no intention of being rude. I consumed a grape. It was the juiciest, sweetest thing that I had ever eaten._

_"We're going to be friends," Elise told me. She was hurting my wrist. "You and I will be best friends forever."_

* * *

"AAAAAH!"

Cynthia bolts out of the room with Saturn scrambling after her tailcoat.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Saturn screeches to the mess of Grunts gathering around a portion of destroyed wall. Legs are exposed from under the rabble— _HOLY ARCEUS—_ but they twitch and retreat back to reveal a groaning Mars.

"Mars!" Saturn rushes to help her. "Mars, are you hurt?"

"Other than that spectacular fall, I'm absolutely peachy," she grumbles, shaking her head. Then she shrugs. "Oh dilly dally, shilly shally better than getting stabbed by a katana." She leaps to her feet, neverminding the incredulous stares in her direction. "A song got stuck in my head."

Cynthia gasps. "Mars. Look." She's pointing to the wall that Mars had demolished (on accident?). Saturn follows her finger.

_There is a fricking door behind the wall._

"We found it!" Mars exclaims, high-fiving the Grunts. She fistbumps Cynthia and pinches Saturn on the arm.

"B-But Mars!" Saturn moans, but the Grunts are already flanking that door. With a sharp command from Mars, they kick it down and rush into the sealed room.

_DAMN IT Y'ALL CRAZY HERE!_

When he can see again, Saturn accesses his surroundings. _PINK_ is the first thing that comes to mind. Pink walls, pink furniture… lace, satin, gossamer curtains standing in the still breeze. A plush bed with cotton partitions. A marble table with glass teacups spilling with spiderwebs.

"This room is too pink for my tastes." Mars makes a face. "Red is much better…"

"This is a child's room," Doctor Grunt mutters, casting a precursory glace about the furniture. "I'd say… twelve or thirteen. She's discovering herself, as well as her personal styles and tastes."

Cynthia flings open the closet. _Why does she keep doing that?!_ "Look." Indeed, there lies poofy dresses with lace, colorful cardigans… and even a red kimono with printed cherry blossoms. Fashion that died a long, long time ago.

"Okay, I think we're done," Saturn hisses. "Let's go!"

"Hey everyone, look at this!"

"EEP! Mars, don't touch that!"

Mars is pointing to a small box. A simple yet elegant wooden object.

"Don't even _think_ of it, Mars!" Saturn slaps her hand away. She pouts. "What happens if you open it, huh? You might release some sort of curse to the world! O-Or worse, there's still traces of hallucinogenic gas—"

Cynthia picks up that box. "There's no keyhole," she states.

"AACCCK, DO YOU WISH TO DIE?!"

"It's all in the name of science, Saturn." Mars casts a dismissive wave. She takes the box and is now peering it from all angles. "Wait! Listen! There's something inside!"

"Mars, you'll break it." Cynthia takes back the box. "How are you supposed to open this? Wait. You're right, there _is_ something inside." The Grunts suggest prying open the lid. But it's clamped shut. "There's a small opening… maybe the crank fell out a long time ago…"

"You know," Saturn huffs. "Locked boxes must be locked for a reason."

"Hey look, there's an inscription on the bottom!"

_Damn it._ Saturn smacks his palm against his face. _Don't you Champions ever listen to what other people say?!_ Nevertheless, his ears are open.

_"In memory of the dancing girl."_ Cynthia squints at the faded letters. _"To Elise. From…"_ The rest if smudged.

_Wait. W-What?_

"Elise," Cynthia echoes. She holds up the Old Notebook. "That's the name in the diary."

Saturn's heart plummets to his stomach. Mars stops shaking the box. "Who?"

"The Old Notebook." Cynthia clears her throat. "It mentioned a girl named Elise. She used to live here."

"Does she have black hair and blue eyes?"

Saturn frowns. "Y-Yes, but how…"

The Doctor Grunt turns away from the portrait of Elise on the wall. It's mounted high up the center of the room like a watchful sentinel.

_Those eyes are unmistakably blue._

"Holy Arceus." Saturn crumbles on the floor. "Arceus above, I've been a good boy. All I wanted was—" Mars pinches him in the cheek. He wakes up. "T-Thank you, Mars."

"Sure thing." Then Mars turns her attention to the Old Notebook. "You found it. What does it say?" 

"A lot." Cynthia taps the book. "It's relatively new… about two decades ago. But judging from the dust… I'd say that this room was sealed off more than a century ago."

_Oh no. Ohnononono…_

Mars holds up the mysterious box. "This one's also dated. Yup, about two decades ago." Her eyes glint with an unnerving light. "Hey, maybe it's all connected! See if there's anything about opening this box!"

"You have a valid point, Mars." Cynthia smirks. "And I know that the Old Notebook is only the beginning…"

Eyes gather around the woman with the diary. "We can read more outside," Saturn mutters, but no one ever listens to him. He shields his eyes from that disturbing portrait— _Holy Arceus, it's the same one in the Notebook—_ and wedges himself between Mars and the Doctor Grunt.

"Let's see…" Cynthia locates her page. "Ah. The next entry…"

* * *

_I was escorted to a guestroom after dinner. Mister Mori insisted on holding my hand. He offered to make my bed, strangely enough. I made it myself to avoid inconvenience him._

_The storm hadn't shown signs of letting up. The room had a strong floral scent. The only thing not covered in silk was the mahogany desk. Other than the empty flower vase, the desk and its content were bare._

_Out of sheer coincidence, I discovered a piece of paper under the desk when I happened to hit my knee. A rather grotesque drawing was scribbled on it. Along with a message written in red ink._

_"What are you doing?"_

_Elise stared down at me with those deep black eyes. I kept my head down until she gave me permission to look up. "You're not sleeping?" No, I told her. I wished to return to Eterna Forest. Her expression soured at that sentiment. She stood defiantly in the doorway, and no amount of pleading could deter her whims._

_"You'll be happier here," she insisted. While I appreciated her offer, I needed to go back. "Why? No, you don't! Your parents can just find a new child!"_

_That wasn't the problem, but I have yet to fulfill the purpose of this notebook. Someone was waiting for me. I can't let him down._

_"Fine." That abrupt change of heart was suspicious, to say the least. "Fine. Tomorrow I'll let you go. But tonight, you can't go anywhere because of the storm… right?"_

_She asked for my name. I told her. "You're just what I'm looking for," she said. "You can bring back the light, if you'd only stayed."_

_When she left, I tested the door. As expected, it was locked from the other side._

* * *

_It poured on and on. I kept a vigilant watch throughout the early morning, yet the weather never changed. Trees have toppled beyond my window. The ground was flooded to an amount that reached my calves if I was standing outside._

_When I heard the clock chime, I tested the door again. It was unlocked, much to my extreme relief. Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, I dashed down the corridor as fast as my legs could carry me._

_The clock still showed midnight. Once more, it was just a wall. No door. I contemplated the windows, but it was too high, and I couldn't risk dirtying these clothes._

_Mister Mori saw me. He asked if I wanted dinner. I told him that I wanted to go back. Please, I needed to return. "Did you even sleep last night?" His tone incited great pain within my chest. These hallucinations have gotten out of hand! Appetite had left me, even as he offered me an expensive glass of heated milk. When his back was turned, I ran away._

_Elise was waiting for me, as if she had been expecting it. "It's still raining," she sang. "Let us play House!"_

_"House" was a game that involved role-playing as parents. Elise scolded me with each mistake that I amounted. I was a horrible father, she told me. I couldn't keep a grip on anything. The "children"—her stuffed Pokemon plushes—would run away from home at my child-rearing._

_She moved on to the next activity: pouring air from a kettle and drinking imaginary tea. Elise scolded me at every possible chance. "Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy! You're wasting tea! Can't you do anything right?" My heartfelt apologies couldn't satisfy her._

_Elise took me to her father. "He's useless," she told him. "Like the others." The mirth from dinnertime had all but vanished. The members of the household were glaring at me, the uninvited guest. Just like…_

_"Mori, please escort the boy out. He is no longer welcomed here."_

_The butler did just that. His pace was slower, I noticed, and he still insisted on holding my hand. Before I left, he offered me a napkin, then closed the door._

_The sun was shining through the dry canopy. The Pokemon from before had waited for me, seeing as they rushed forward upon sight. It was only later that I realized how time had stood still while I was in that mansion. There was no storm either, according the owner of the bicycle shop. There had been no storms for a week._

* * *

"Elise wanted friends," Mars whispers, glancing to the portrait of the young lady.

 _She reminds me of that other girl. The Berlitz one._ Saturn nibbles on his fingernails. The dust is settling into his throat. _But the princess has those idiots with her._

"So that was her ploy," summarizes Doctor Grunt. "Lonely Elise lured unsuspecting wanderers into the Old Chateau. This one was let go because he failed to live up to her expectations."

Cynthia gives the Grunt an unfocused look. She's frowning. Saturn speaks. "It could've all been a hallucination. Or a stunt pulled by an attention-craving child."

"Is it really?" she whispers. Saturn scowls. _What the hell's wrong with Cynthia lately?_

"Only one way to fine out." Mars claps her hands. "What's next, what's next?"

Cynthia closes the Old Notebook. "We need to check up on R-8 and B-2. It's been a while since we've heard from them."

With one last glance around the pink room, Cynthia departs. Mars and the team follow. Saturn's about to leave when something slides across his vision.

A flower petal. A red petal. When he turns back, there's a bouquet of red and white flowers in Elise's hands, the blossoms still vibrant as if it was recently picked.

* * *

"Let me know if it hurts, Cyrus."

He nods, keeping still as Jupiter unravels his bandages. One trip… two trips around his head. Jupiter's heart thunders when she sets down the gauze.

"Cyrus, close one eye for me," Jupiter says, "How many fingers am I holding?"

"Three."

"Okay. Now the other one."

"Two."

"What color is the sky, Cyrus?"

"I can see perfectly fine, Jupiter." Cyrus rubs his eyes. She's not convinced, but he seems to be functionally decently, at least.

Jupiter stops him before he can undo his cast. "Your arm is still healing, Cyrus. You landed on it pretty badly."

"No, it's fine now."

"Cyrus."

"I'm sorry." He keeps his clouded gaze to his legs. And there's nothing she can say about that, and he knows it. A Driftloon drifts into the room. He pats its head. The Ghost smiles before dematerializing into the air once again.

"How do you feel, Cyrus?" Jupiter grunts.

"I'm fine." _No, you're not. I just blasted you with four Sleep Powders. Your Honchkrow had to use Confuse Ray while Weavile's holding you down with Gyarados's Scary Face._

"Okay," she says. Cyrus stares down at his Poke balls. His Pokemon peer back up from behind capsule walls.

The sunlight catches in his hair. _It's definitely white,_ Jupiter realizes with sinking heart. _But… the good thing is, he's talking to me now._

"What is the commotion outside?" Cyrus says softly.

"They're hunting for ghosts." Jupiter smirks. "They'll be okay. You just sit here and rest."

Cyrus frowns. "But that's _all_ I've been doing, Jupiter." He attempts to get up, only to slump back to the wall. "All I've been _doing_ is resting! I need—"

Jupiter juts her chin to the mound of notebooks at his side. "You've been working nonstop on the current project." She takes one, mindlessly leafing through its contents. "Do you remember everything you've ever written?"

Cyrus tilts his head, as if that's an obvious question. "Yes. It's important that I remain on top of everything. The authorities might have confiscated my notes, but there's still much I have yet to add." He twirls his favorite feather pen. "These are my _revised_ notes, you can say."

 _Always a step ahead, huh?_ A Haunter streams past Jupiter's ear. The Ghost hovers before Cyrus, who scratches it behind the ears, and it grins.

"The Ghosts here like you a lot," she remarks.

"Oh no," he says quickly. "They find humans to be curious creatures."

"Right," Jupiter hums as Haunter laughs at his expense. "Because you're an interesting creature." Cyrus doesn't know how to react to that, so he just frowns.

A sweet scent of honey wafts into the room.

"Cyrus?"

"Yes, Jupiter."

"Um…" She licks her lips. "How… many visitors?"

Cyrus blinks. His eyes are narrowed. "Quite a handful," he mutters, absently twisting his blanket.

"Oh. Like who?"

He hesitates. She waits. After a brief silence, he raises his head to match her eyes. "My grandfather came in the other day." His voice is soft and raw. Like a child's. "He wasn't supposed to come back until much later down the road…"

 _Arceus, his grandfather…_ Jupiter bites her lips. _Still…_ It's a selfish introspection, but it's terrifying to imagine a life where that rainy day never happened.

"I'm sorry, Cyrus," she whispers. She feels those eyes on her neck. A painful silence. A faint intake of breath.

"Please don't apologize, Jupiter. It's not your fault." Cyrus is talking to his hands. "But… he did ask me about you. About Mars. Saturn. The Grunts… A-About…"

He shuts down after that. But she doesn't push it. She messages her chest, wincing as pain flares up in the area between her ribs. Oh how she wants to hold that hand, to fill his head with empty assurances…

"That… that person from the other day," Jupiter begins. "That was…"

His silence only affirms her question. Jupiter squeezes her eyes. The wings. The chains, the blood… The horror in those eyes when she attempted to reach out…

"Thank you for seeing him," Cyrus murmurs, the one sitting on the bed. The one she can touch. "He… told me that before he left."

Jupiter smiles. It's a shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Of course, Cyrus. Anytime."

Another silence. Someone's shouting downstairs. Screaming, scuffling… she won't be surprised to find the mansion falling apart anytime soon.

Someone knocks on the door. Cyrus sits up. The door opens, and of course, no one is there.

"Hello, sir," says Cyrus with a deep nod. "No, you're not interrupting anything."

"Cyrus?"

"That's the gardener, Jupiter."

"Oh. Of course. Silly me, it's just the damn gardener!"

"Yes, it is." Cyrus tilts his head. "I'm fine, sir." A pause. "Ah. Jupiter, he wishes to talk to you."

"M-Me?"

"Yes." Cyrus sits up a little straighter. Those faded eyes, just like those from an oil painting, bears into the empty spot in the doorway. "Ah. He wishes that I relay a poem for you. Would you be willing to listen?"

Jupiter squints at the kid. "S-Sure…"

"Thank you. Now—" His brows furrow. "'Enticing?' I know what that means, but… Erm. All right, I can try, if that could convey your message more effectively…"

Jupiter isn't sure that she wants to know what the hell has been agreed upon. Thankfully, Cyrus is keeping his shirt on. He clears his throat. Twice, thrice, and begins.

 _Holy Arceus._ Gooseflesh breaks down Jupiter's neck. His deep, velvety voice puts even melted dark chocolate to shame.

_"Shall I compare thee to a summer's moon?_

_Thou art more stunning and splendid_

_Than the gentle winds of June,_

_And often is the golden bounty dimm'd._

_But thy eternal summer shall not fade!_

_Naught can rob the beauty of what thou'st made!_

_A simpleminded fool with eyes can see,_

_How brilliant summer has attributed from thee!"_

Jupiter's hand moves before her brain can. When the spots clear from his vision, she sees Cyrus. Clutching at his cheek with a face of pure confusion muddled with a sprinkle of fear.

"I-I'm sorry, Cyrus!" Jupiter yelps. She plows the hair out of her face. "I-I didn't mean to slap you! I swear!"

Cyrus blinks. "I'm sorry." Then he's hiding under the blanket.

"N-No! It's not your fault!" _This damn kid…_ She loosens her collar. "T-That was meant for the gardener… Not… you…"

Cyrus rubs his eyes. "Well, he left when you hit me. Perhaps he forgot something—" He frowns. Jupiter sinks her teeth into her lips. "Ah. He says that he'll be back, Jupiter."

Jupiter stares at him. Cyrus looks at her eagerly. "Yes? You look like you have a question for me."

_Yes, I do. How are you a multimillion Poke CEO, Cyrus? Even before your thirtieth birthday? How did you survive by yourself for so long, Cyrus??????!!!_

But out loud, she just shakes her head.

* * *

"R-8!"

The Breakfast Grunt turns. Her face brightens when she sees that face, not that ass.

"B-2!" She waves. "How goes it with your search?"

"Um…" _Hehe, about that…_ "It's off to a good start. How about you?"

R-8 glances back at her group. "We tried to locate the staircase, but there's nothing remotely like it. We checked the floors, but came up _rein."_

B-2 rubs the back of his neck. "Um… do you want to join my team? We're about to search the TV."

She raises an eyebrow, the beauty mark under her eye crinkling as well. "Sure," she hums. "The more the merrier, right?"

 _Women are so scary. They're dangerously perceptive, but I guess that's how we're still alive._ B-2 leads the new group to that room.

The TV is black. Turned off, strangely enough.

"Go on," whispers a Grunt, kicking at B-2's ass. The latter snaps his jaw, but stands up regardless.

R-8 pokes her face from behind the TV. "Nothing's plugged in," she says.

"I know what I saw!" B-2 snaps. "The TV turned on by itself! It was like—"

"Brzzt. Zzt."

"L-like that?"

"Yeah bra, like that-that-that—"

Statis is running across the screen. B-2 leaps into R-8's arms.

"Zzzt. Zzzzzt!"

"Y-You heard that, right?" B-2 whips his head around the room. They heard it, all right. "It's coming from the TV! Look! The face--!"

A ball of light jumps from the screen. The Grunts scream, diving for cover as the apparition zooms past their heads, leaving crackling air in its wake.

"It passed through the wall!" R-8 cries. "After it!"

"Don't chase after it!" B-2 pulls her back. "It can burn you! It can inhabit your body!"

They lose the light. It's silent once more. The TV is black again. Then R-8's eyes widen. "That's the same light from back then." Everyone gapes at her. "Remember? The one that saved Cyrus. The one that led us here, to the Old Chateau."

B-2 considers this. "Did it follow us?"

"There's only one way to find out." _Oh, it's that smile._ The last time she smiled like this was the second before the Operation began. 

"B-2! R-8!"

 _Oh!_ "Mars! Saturn! And Cynthia!"

The groups rejoin. B-2 fills them in.

"So behind that sealed room… is this box?" R-8 nudges at the thing in Mars's hands. It's a simple wooden box. _A treasure box? A jewel box?_

Mars grins. "And what you found… was the ball of light in the TV? The same one?" The Grunts nod.

"Did you see where it went?" R-8 presses. The other group shakes their heads.

"No, but Saturn and I found this Old Notebook." Cynthia holds up her spoils. "It contains invaluable information about the Old Chateau. I'm sure that it'll mention the TV, if there is a connection to that."

B-2 exchanges a glance with his friend. "Why not," he says, shrugging. "I love reading doomsday logs."

Saturn gravitates a bit closer when Cynthia opens the Notebook. She clears her throat, and continues.

* * *

_The Old Chateau was a different world in daylight. As I stood outside its gates, I saw it for how it was depicted in the books: an old, neglected mansion lost to the streams of time._

_I knocked on the door. I waited until someone invited me in. After an appropriate amount of time, I announced my presence and headed into the dark hallway. I heard my footsteps from the second floor. The portraits were smudged beyond recognition, the oil paint flaking off from age. I felt unseen eyes pressing against my back._

_A powerful force swept me off my feet. I felt fists raining down my body. I need to talk to Elise! I said. I squeezed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was back in those well-lit halls. It was nighttime again._

_"You are not welcomed here," said the father in a deep, guttural growl. I know, but I must speak to Elise, I insisted. His shoe came faster than I expected._

_Mister Mori moved to my side with his handkerchief. Elise finally came down the stairs. I never expected her to show mirth upon seeing me, but I still presented her the bouquet._

_I apologized for being such a terrible friend. I have failed her, but I still wished to make amends. The flowers, I told her, were picked en route route to the Old Chateau: wild roses and white lilies. I thought of bringing a piece of the outside world to her instead… at least, until she found someone else more qualified._

_Imagine my shock when she uttered my name! I turned back, fully expecting a harsh reprimand on her part that never came._

_"You came back just to give me this?" Her was voice was muffled, as if coming from the walls. I watched her face transform into a new, unfamiliar emotion. Did I upset her? Quite possibly, as her staring only increased in intensity with each passing second._

_She asked me if I would be coming back tomorrow. If I'm needed, then I'm willing to return. She took the bouquet, holding it quite closely to her bosom despite my warnings about the briars._

* * *

_After the symposium, I returned to the Old Chateau, as Elise had wished. The mansion now appeared as it was during my first visit. Mister Mori greeted me warmly and escorted me into the lavish hallways._

_It was midnight again, quite curiously._

_Elise was waiting with her father. I greeted them both. The young lady took my hand, yet her grip was softer. She led me to the third floor._

_I've never seen an attic in my life, let alone such a spacious one. While I marveled at the sheer artifacts in the room, Elise beckoned me to an uncovered mirror._

_"What do you see?"_

_Her, of course. And me. Elise gave me a strange look, but I was confident of what I saw. Despite her current form, I would always see her as Elise._

_"How long have you known?"_

_I showed her the message from the previous guest. I've also confirmed my theory by asking the older residents of Eterna City. Hours in the library, combing through archives revealed a grim, solemn truth about the Old Chateau._

_"And yet, you came back." From a large, antique chest, she produced two items: a tutu and a pair of ballerina slippers, both still in prime condition._

_She had dreamt of being a dancer. She loved the stage and all its glamour. "But the doctors said that I should give up that dream. Before my seventh birthday, my legs ceased to work. All my life I've known only the bed and the white walls… We all thought that it was the common cold at first. But when I couldn't breathe anymore, they finally sent me home. To the chateau."_

_I apologized for her misfortune. "The curse might spread," she said. Even if strains of the disease were still in the air, the chance of contracting it was quite low—impossible in fact, I assured her._

_She believed me._

_I'm a horrible person._

* * *

_I returned the next day, this time with a Budew in my arms. Our meetings increased in frequency: at first once a week, then two, three times a week._

_I brought items from the outside world to showcase the curious lady. She was enthralled by the forest Pokemon, so excited that she introduced me to the Gastly and Haunter that lived alongside her family. She showed me the parade of Driftloon outside the window, suggesting that we should ride them sometime._

_One day, I brought a library book. "Hey, that's Father's favorite story," she commented when we read it out loud. "That's where he got my name."_

_The father called me before I left the mansion. "It's the first time that I've ever seen my daughter smile like that," he said. "How can I ever repay you…?"_

* * *

_Elise asked for the purpose of the notebook. She asked if she could contribute illustrations, which I gladly obliged. She was an excellent artist. As we would read fairy tales and record entries, Mister Mori would bring Elise's favorite snacks._

_"Was she pretty?" she asked one day while on the rooftop. The moon was bright and round that night. "The princess in your mind. Sometimes, when you look at me, I get the sense that you're seeing someone else instead."_

_Was I truly that reprehensible?_

_"It's okay." The skies were clear, but it was still nighttime, yet I noticed how truly blue her eyes were… the distinctive way they would crinkle when she smiled. "It's not your fault. Our worlds should have never touched in the first place."_

* * *

_It was announced that the business venue had reached a conclusion. Summer was ending, but I've developed an unhealthy attachment to this city and its secrets._

_I made each trip to the Old Chateau more meaningful. Not only did the inhabitants know my name, but they were eager to share their stories for my notebook. The gardener, according to his accounts, regretted not saying farewell to his beloved back at Hearthome City. The cook admitted to having a peanut allergy that was discovered all too late, showed me basic cooking skills that I failed to grasp, unfortunately. The father invited me to his private study, a bunker of sorts, He showed me the treasure that he had amassed as a collector, the stories behind each relic an epic of their own._

_While I never wished to play favorites, I found Mister Mori's presence to be one of warmth and benevolence. The butler had served in the last great war… he had lost his grandson when his hometown was bombed by the air raids. "It brings me such joy to see that Miss Elise made a friend like you," he would say._

* * *

_Our encounter was a sudden one. On one particular day, Elise presented me with a box from the basement. "You're so mum about yourself, but I figured that you might enjoy this."_

_And she was right. Elise seemed pleased when I presented her the finished product. She said that it would be a great addition to her playset, which I disagreed, seeing how her plush Pokemon were made of cotton and wool._

_Nevertheless, she invited me to another round of House. Only this time, she showered me with compliments on every little thing that I did. It wasn't necessary, but she insisted that I looked nicer when I smiled._

_"You'll be a great father someday," she said while laughing._

_Mister Mori noticed the toy robot when he came in with the treats. After Elise explained its story, the butler suggested that I go with him. There was something that might pique my interest. What Mister Mori intended to show me was a television set—the old, bulky contraption that relied heavily on perfect signal to function._

_"Something is inside the television," explained Mister Mori. "It was living inside the old lawn mower until it relocated here. I've seen young children like you wandering around our humble home, but would leave upon sight of our guest… Perhaps this Pokemon will suit you well."_

_The words only left his mouth when a ball of light startlingly emerged from the television screen. It wasn't ball lightning, but in fact a Pokemon, one that hovered in the air, held aloft by a power unseen. As if curious and unafraid of my presence, it floated toward me. Crackling sounds accompanied it, as if from static electricity in the air._

_Remarkably, it seemed that the Pokemon was the source of this power!_

_"It won't hurt you," Elise said when I flinched, certain that my voice would be subject to a shock. And much to my surprise, the Pokemon seemed to favor me with a smile. "I think it likes you."_

_"I agree," added Mister Mori with conviction._

_This Pokemon was simply sensational. The fact that it can turn indivisible was simply the beginning. However, unlike the Gastly and Haunter, what made this Poekmon unique was its ability to enter and operate machinery!_

_I didn't recall seeing this particular Pokemon from research conferences, nor did the butler and Elise know of its identity. As such, I have decided to name this most wondrous Pokemon 'Rotom.' According to Mister Mori, Rotom emerged from the motor of a lawn mower…_

_Motor and Rotom… Surely the link was obvious?_

* * *

"Rotom!"

Everyone jumps at B-2's exclamation. He slaps a fist to his ass. "That's it! That must be the Pokemon that was possessing the TV! It was Rotom!"

Cynthia studies the faded sketch. "It wasn't in my Pokedex…" She's muttering to herself. "Does Professor Rowan know that such a Pokemon exists…?"

R-8's eyebrows dip to her nose as she pushes the thoughts in her mind. "So there _is_ a third floor… But how do you access the attic? Did it say?"

Apparently not. "We'll just have to look around some more," Mars says. "If it says so in the journal, then it must have existed!"

Cynthia has that lost look again. She glances down to the hallway, to a destination unknown. "B-2." The Grunt jumps. "You said that there was… a haunted robot in the basement?"

"Hehe, well, there's _something_ in the…" Recognition slaps him across the cheeks. His fellow Grunts catch his drift. "Of course! There's a generator in the basement."

"A motor," Saturn mutters.

B-2 bobs excitedly on the balls on his heels. "Well, I'll be! Okay, let's go then! To the basement!"

"Good idea," Cynthia says. "You check the basement, B-2. Take whoever you want with you."

"B-But about you, Cynthia?"

"I need to confirm something."

"Saturn and I will go with you!" Mars cries. Saturn scowls, but he's not putting up much of a protest.

B-2 nods. "Okay. R-8, Doc, let's go!"

The group split ways. Cynthia's team runs down the sunlit corridors, turning and running up the stairs. "Something's on your mind," Saturn grunts.

Cynthia halts. She flips through the Old Notebook like she's rifling through a treasure map. "The answer was right in front of us, Mars and Saturn," she huffs. "It was right there this entire time!"

They pass Elise's room. Saturn notices the portrait again.

The bouquet had wilted.

* * *

Cyrus is hunched over the bed, his back arched like a dome. He was entirely lost in his world, that feather pen scratching out steam.

"Cyrus?" No answer. "Cyrus!"

His back snaps up. "Y-Yes?"

Jupiter sighs. "Cyrus, you're too close to the paper."

"Ah." But now he's squinting, and his writing pace is significantly slower than before. He rubs his eyes, frowning.

"Cyrus?"

"I'm fine, Jupiter. I can see perfectly well."

_Really now?_ "Cyrus, I've been wondering." He sets aside the notebook to give her his undivided attention. She takes a breath. "You're… the only one here who can see and talk to ghosts… you know that, right?"

Cyrus tilts his head. "Perhaps the lightning struck me a tad too hard."

"Cyrus, this is not the time for jokes." He just stares at her. Jupiter frowns. _Of course. What I am saying? Cyrus? Jokes?_

A pause. "Am… Am I making you uncomfortable, Jupiter?"

"What? N-No, it's just…" _Well, it's… not normal, but the ghosts are most definitely there._ "I'm just…" She's rubbing her arms again, even though it's not that cold. "I'm here for you, you know that, right? Don't… don't bottle it all up inside yourself…"

Cyrus is silent. He drops his gaze to the blanket, staring at nothing in particular. Jupiter licks her lips until she feels saliva returning to her mouth.

"Was Grandfather right?"

"What?"

Cyrus's eyes widen. "N-No, I was just thinking out loud. I apologize." He closes his eyes, his chest heaving with each long, deep breath. "I see. I… I shall take your words into consideration, Jupiter. Erm. Y-Yes, I'll do that."

"Cyrus, you're not making any sense."

"I know." Cyrus slumps against the wall. He's perfectly still after that, and Jupiter has to check his pulse, to which he assures her that he's fine. Just thinking. There's a lot on his mind, obviously.

**_Knock. Knock._** Jupiter opens it. Something comes in, but it's not a person. Not a soul with feet nor legs. "What the hell?" The wheelchair rolls into the room as if guided by indivisible hands. It stops near his bedside. And waits.

"Who…?" Cyrus glances around the room. "Who did that?"

"Cyrus," Jupiter huffs. "I think the ghosts want to help you."

He scowls. "I don’t need that. It's not even mine to begin with." He lurches over the bed just to push it away, but it comes back. Does a 180° turn on its own just to return to his side.

"Cyrus."

"No! I need to practice walking if I want my legs to work again!"

Jupiter goes right up to his face. He freezes. _Ah. So that's what it is…_ "Arceus, Cyrus, didn't you listen to anything that I said?"

"Yes, I did." He's glaring at the wheelchair.

"Cyrus, get in the chair."

"I refuse."

_"Cyrus."_ He winces, but remains stubbornly rooted to the bed. "If you get in the chair, you won't have to be lying around," Jupiter coos like she's bribing a baby to walk with food. Cyrus's mask slips ever so slightly, but with a defiant wave of his hand, the blanket flies back to the wall.

"I can walk by myself," he snaps.

Jupiter shrugs. "Okay. Do it. No Pokemon. No ghosts to help you. Show me you still got your stuff, oh mighty Galactic Leader."

Cyrus's lips twist downwards. He grits his teeth… and thrusts himself on his legs.

**_THUMP!_**

Jupiter grimaces. Cyrus isn't moving. _That's gotta hurt, kid._

"J…Jupiter…?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

_Damn it, victory is bittersweet._ "Remember Cyrus, it's the journey that counts, not the destination." She peels him off the floor. Her smirk immediately fades upon seeing the look on his face. "Damn. Um. Let's go get something for that bump first."

* * *

_Rotom and I were perpetual companions. The electricity from its body forbade contact, however, but we cared not. Would my friends welcome Rotom with open arms?_

_However, my time here was coming to an end. On Summer's eve, I walked through Eterna Forest for the final time. I bid farewell to the Pokemon. Some would refuse to release my sleeve, even after I assured them of the slim chance that we would meet again._

_Has it really been three months?_

_The inhabitants were expecting me, Rotom included. "You don't have to go," Elise insisted. Her reasoning was lofty, yet I faltered at her words. "You're my first friend. I'll be so lonely. Why do you have to go? You're the only one…"_

_Elise's father offered me a souvenir from his study. I could never take such precious artifacts. And besides, they were safer in the Old Chateau, where they have been for the past century._

_I presented Elise her gift. Cherish your dream. Whenever you open this music box, I hope you will remember our time together, if they were precious to you. Thank you for accepting me into your home._

_The father had to comfort Elise. Of course. It was my fault for not rehearsing a proper farewell, and now someone was hurt because of me. Flowers would've been better… or better yet, nothing at all…_

_But Mister Mori didn't think of it that way. "Flowers wilt with time," he said. "But what you've given us will last a lifetime." The butler enveloped me in his arms. "You've grown since we've first met." Grown? But it's been a mere three months…_

_Rotom remained by my side. Our time together had allowed me to better understand its thoughts, and as of now, Rotom wished to explore the outside world._

_The farewell was a lengthy one. I was pressed for time, yet I remained. They wished me the best of luck. Elise, still clutching my music box, left me something that she called a good-luck charm on my cheek._

_When will I visit the Old Chateau again? As of the time writing this, it was highly unlikely. I decided to leave this notebook in Mister Mori's capable hands to maintain the privacy of this family and its secrets. The story during these months was indeed a curious adventure, one that I look back with fond memories._

_Dear reader, if you happen to find my notebook, may I ask of you a favor? Do not tell anyone of what had transpired within the walls of the Old Chateau. Whether that was a colorful hallucination or an actual phenomenon, I implore you to protect the dignity of this mansion and of Elise and her family._

_Summer, 19XX._

* * *

"Boss is gone!"

Cynthia tears her eyes off the notebook. She runs to the room, and sure enough, the bed is empty. The windows are open, but the space isn't big enough for a grown man to have crawled through.

Saturn is biting into his nails again. "Oh nonono," he groans. "He can't walk far! Did the ghosts abduct him?!"

"Where's Jupiter?" Mars crawls under the bed. "Jupiter! Master Cyrus!"

Cynthia grips the Notebook. "I think I know where they are. Come on!"

Realization passes through Saturn's eyes when they turn the corner. "No! No, Boss can't be in there! He can't—"

"Cyrus can't what, Saturn?"

All freeze at the sound of Jupiter's voice. She faces them, her curly violet hair flaring behind her like a cape washed in pink light.

"Hey there," she says again, smirking. "How was the ghost hunt?"

Saturn closes his jaw. "W-Why are you… What…. Who's…"

Jupiter turns the wheelchair around. "Saturn." Cyrus gives the gaping young man a nod. "Mars. Champion Cynthia. Welcome back."

Cynthia slowly uncovers her mouth. Cyrus calmly returns her gaze, now with both of his eyes. An air of refinement radiates from his being, even if he's just sitting there with a blanket draped over his legs.

"Boss!" Mars chirps, her face breaking into sunshine. "Boss, you're okay!"

Saturn is rubbing his eyes dry. "B-But. How. What…?"

Jupiter shrugs. "Apparently the ghosts were worried about him. They gave us this complimentary wheelchair."

_That wheelchair…_ Cynthia's heart is racing, despite there not being a single Time Gear in sight. She hides the Old Notebook behind her back. "What are you looking at, Cyrus?" She makes her voice as nonchalant as possible.

Cyrus frowns. "The reduplication of the notes are proceeding smoothly, Champion Cynthia. In due time, I'll have a comprehensive report, as well as a plan outlined." His gaze slides to the side. "I happened to see rubble in the hallway, so I came to investigate. That is all."

"It was Mars's fault," Saturn says.

"Nu-uh! Saturn blamed me first!"

"It's both your faults," Jupiter says. They shut up. She snorts. "Actually, it doesn't matter. This place is falling apart anyhow. Way to spot a sealed room, kids."

Cynthia notices how Cyrus's eyes linger on the empty tea set. The rusty doll house tucked in the corner of the room. As Jupiter wheels him around, he's absorbing everything in a deep, pensive silence.

She stops at the portrait. "She was a beautiful little lady…" Jupiter says in a hushed whisper. "The fate that befell this household was a tragic one indeed… But the story today is heavily romanticized, so no one can agree on what truly transpired within these walls."

"Every time I look at it, I get the chills," Mars murmurs. "Elise is just staring at me…"

Saturn frowns. "What are you _talking_ about, Mars? Elise is closing her eyes."

The Old Notebook is burning in her palms. "Elise is holding out the bouquet."

Jupiter casts an exasperated scowl at the group. "Elise? Was that her name? No, she's very clearly winking. Isn't that right, Cyrus?"

Cyrus slowly turns back. Then his eyes fall on the box. "Mars." His voice is low. "Where did you find that?"

"Right there." She points to the shelf containing figures of ballerinas in various poses. "Um… is something wrong, Boss?"

Cynthia takes a tentative step forward. He flinches. "Y-You left your notebook, Cyrus."

"I did? But I haven't left the room in—"

"No. This one." She slides the Old Notebook into his lap. The change of expression is immediate, the glaring crack in his mask. But when she blinks, he's staring down at it with an empty frown.

"This isn't mine, Champion Cynthia," Cyrus states flatly, coldly. He pushes it back to her hands.

"Yes, it is."

"How are you so sure?" Mars mutters. "It could've been anyone's…"

Cynthia snaps her teeth. "No, it's Cyrus's." _I can't explain it, but I'm sure of it!_

"No," he growls with chilling finality, the blizzard picking up behind his eyes. "It is _not_ mine. Unlike the Time Gear theft, you have no proof that I was the mastermind behind such a childish thing."

Cynthia clicks her tongue, and there goes the bitter taste. "Why are you so difficult, Cyrus? It's not going to hurt you—"

"It. Is. Not. Mine." Cyrus puts heavy emphasis on those words, rocking the wheelchair with his force.

"H-Hey," Saturn whispers. "Elise disappeared from her portrait." But the Champion and Galactic Boss are too busy pushing around the Old Notebook to care.

"Fine!" Cynthia snatches it back, her strength almost making him fall over. "I'll just ask around then! I'll show this to the world, maybe then someone will step up!"

"Y-You'll do no such thing!"

"Who do you think I am, Cyrus?" she barks and turns away.

"Wait! Please!"

_Holy Arceus._ Cynthia turns back to see Cyrus's outstretched hand. Trembling. The chair is just _this_ much away from tipping over. That look on his face sends a spiked fist to her heart.

"I'm sorry," Cyrus whispers. "Champion Cynthia, please don't…."

"Cyrus…" Her own voice is betraying her. She hands him the Old Notebook with both hands. He takes it like she's offering him a death sentence.

"What more do you want from me?" he mutters to his legs. "We already have a working agreement…"

Cynthia is breathing through her mouth. She's aware of the Commanders' eyes burning into her back. "That… that book was written after I left, wasn't it?"

She can hear a speck of dust touch the floor. A silence, heavy and cumbersome like molasses, oozes down the air. A soft whimper escapes from a slit in the ceiling.

"It's been several summers," Cyrus finally mutters, his hand on the Old Notebook. And he says nothing more to that.

Mars gives him a long, sad look. "So you _have_ been here before, Master Cyrus."

"It was a long time ago, Mars." His fingers brush upon the decaying spine. But he doesn't open it. Instead, he's squinting at the object in Mars's hands. "Mars." She has to strain to hear that. "May I see that?"

Mars silently hands the wooden box to her boss. He stares at it, lost in the turbulent storm that are his thoughts. He rubs the dust off the lid, carefully and slowly as if handling glass.

Cynthia turns, but no one is there. "Cyrus," she says, keeping her head down to match his gaze. He stiffens. "We couldn't open it." Silence. She clears her throat. "Was there a crank?"

"No." His voice is soft, but she hears it clearly over her pounding heart. "No… crank. There's only one way to open this box." He notices the scuff marks and scowls. _Oops._

Jupiter has been observing this interaction in silence. "Then how do you open it, Cyrus?" she mutters.

"This opening wasn't made to be meddled with." Those words are aimed at Cynthia specifically. She winces. "You just need to get the wind to blow."

And with a deep, painful inhale, Cyrus blows into the opening. **_Click._** The lid slides open, revealing a silver dancing figure on a pedestal. The faint smell of velvet carpet, of powdered vanities, aromatic candles, touches Cynthia's nose. A scent that existed within the fabric of time.

Cynthia holds the music box up to Mars. She gently winds the small spring.

**_Ru ri ra… ru ri ra…_** Somber, melancholy music wafts from the box and into the sealed room. The dancing girl teeters, but she still stands on her feet—a broken but dedicated dance.

"I know this," Jupiter murmurs, face ashen. "That's… that's a romantic tragedy written during the last great war. Hearthome did a whole exhibition on this once."

"It was a waltz." Cyrus closes his eyes, letting himself vulnerable to the music. "A grieving widow wrote the composition upon realization that her lover would never return home." He looks up at his audience. "It was Elise's favorite tune, when she would dance."

_"Heehee…"_

Saturn gasps. Heads whirl back to the portrait that once contained the enigmatic young lady. There are now fresh flower petals on the floor, directly below the painting. White and red petals quivering in a nonexistent breeze.

Cyrus tilts his head. His eyes slide to the roof. "Jupiter, let's go."

"Huh? Where?"

He raises a brow. "I wish to get everyone acquainted. Come now. Let us head to the third floor."

* * *

The group gapes as Cyrus runs his hand along the uneven walls like a doctor running the stethoscope across a patient's chest. He's feeling for a heart, somewhere under all the plaster.

"The Grunts were indeed close, Saturn." The man stops at an unassuming slab of wood. He raps the wall. **_Tmp. Tmp. Tmp._** If Cynthia's memory serves her well, it's the famous 3/4 time signature. Commonly used in waltz.

**_Click._** He slides aside the dislodged wood. Then he's grasping at a chain from the wall. "Stand next to me, Saturn. You wouldn't want a concussion."

Then he pulls. **_Crick. THAMP!_** Something crashes beside her. When Cynthia opens her eyes, there's a solid staircase opening up to a pitch-black entrance to the attic.

An oddly malevolent feel emanates from the darkness beyond. Cyrus shifts in the wheelchair, his fingers rapping impatiently against his armrest. He's looking at Jupiter with shining eyes.

"I am _not_ carrying you up there," she mutters, and he deflates.

"Hey!"

Heads turn to the approaching sea of blue-green. B-2 skids to a halt, almost causing a human slide for the Grunts behind him.

"You found the secret staircase!" R-8 gasps.

Mars presents her boss like she's showing off a shiny new car. "Master Cyrus found it! You just needed to knock on wood!"

B-2 gasps upon seeing his boss for the first time, alive and well. "Doc!" he gushes. "You're not bedridden anymore!"

Cyrus scoffs. "'Doc?'" He then shakes his head. "I can't be productive otherwise, B-2. I need to pull my weight too… What's in that box?"

"Oh!" B-2 nudges his grinning colleagues. "Well, it was a shocking encounter, but guess what we found in the basement? There was a ro—"

Cynthia pulls him back. He opens his mouth. And closes it when she whispers into his ear.

Cyrus is looking at her direction. "Is there something wrong, Champion Cynthia?"

"No."

"I see. I apologize." _Arceus, what the hell is wrong with me today?!_ But Cyrus is already shifting his focus back to the murky darkness. Then he snaps his fingers. A Drifblim floats into the hallway. The blimp steadies him so he can climb to its streamers, as if he's depositing himself into a swing.

"Amazing." Jupiter rubs her eyes in disbelief. Cyrus clumsily folds the wheelchair and tucks it under an arm.

"Let us go." Driftblim ascends up the stairs. Cynthia exchanges a bewildered glance with his team before running up after him.

* * *

It's a familiar darkness. The type that simply exists just because it can. His heart eventually falls back to the rhythmic ticking of the gloom: **_Tick. Tick._**

Cyrus closes his eyes. _There's the chest. The portraits. The gramophone… The antique sofa… The mirror, still covered…_

A sliver of light peeks through the curtains. It's as if the windows are on fire.

**_Tmp. Tmp._**

Footsteps sound behind him. Hushed voices, sometimes none at all, accompanying their owners.

"You can't dance anymore either."

Cyrus sighs. "Apparently not. Though I was a horrible dancer to begin with."

"Boss." _Oh. When did Saturn get here?_ "Boss, who the hell are you talking to?"

A candle sparks to life. Then a hovering lamp. A chandelier enveloping the attic in cold, pale light, revealing smiling faces.

"Welcome back, young master."

Cyrus drops his head. "Please don't call me that, sir… Ah. That was you, wasn't it? You visited me before, but I had trouble accessing my memories…" Driftblim eases him back down the wheelchair. "Thank you… for your consideration."

"Boss, why are you talking to the Haunter?" Mars hisses, her eyes wide and unusually bright. "That's a lot of Haunter…"

Cyrus turns to his flesh-and-blood Commanders. "Mars, can you unwind the music box?"

"Huh? O-Oh… sure, Master Cyrus."

"Oooh, it's _Master_ Cyrus now, huh? Heehee…"

Cyrus leans back in the chair. As the music plays, he speaks. "In a land far, far away, there was a young woman who wished upon a star. She had dreams of the stage, dreams of reveling in a cloud of grandeur…" He feels her getting closer. The good-luck charm on his cheek is tingling. "However, she too, fell prey to the changing world… Fixated on the illusion of true love, she latched on to a wandering foreigner… a brilliant young man that ultimately chose his obligations over his heart."

Cyrus turns to his gaping audience. "Quite a tragic tale, won't you agree? Champion Cynthia?"

Cynthia matches his question in stunned silence. The ballerina is still dancing. The dancing girl is humming along as well, twirling on her shaking legs as she pirouettes towards him.

Jupiter yanks the wheelchair back before Cyrus can react. "Cyrus!" snaps the woman from that rainy day. "That's a Gengar! What the hell are you about to do?"

Cyrus extends his hand. Jupiter stares at it. He waits. When touches connect, a slight chill snakes down his spine, but Cyrus keeps his grip. Jupiter gasps. "Do you see what I see, Jupiter?" he murmurs. Her silence affirms the answer. In fact, the light in her eyes is swaying the other way.

Saturn hesitates, but he takes Jupiter's other hand. Mars follows. Then B-2. R-8. The Grunts…

"She's very pretty," the young mistress hums, a hint of bitterness in her ghostly voice. "I see now why you couldn't let her go."

Cyrus grimaces. "Champion Cynthia." She jolts. He swallows down the vibrations before they manifest upon his body. It's difficult to keep his stomach steady, but he's trying. "I would like you to meet Elise, if you'd permit it, that is."

The Old Notebook is an effective medium for contact. Cyrus breathes through his mouth. Cynthia places her hand on the cover. One wrong move and their fingers will connect and… and he's not sure what'll happen to him after that.

"This is Elise," Cyrus says. The girl courtesies. Everyone with a beating heart had stopped breathing at some point in time. "And that's her father." He bows. "Sir."

"Cyrus." The man casts a glance over the team, pale eyes lingering on Mars and Saturn, the latter in particular. His lips twitch gently upwards.

"And this is Mister Mori." The butler bows.

"Thank you for taking care of Cyrus," the old man tells Jupiter. She bobs her head. But she's not letting go of Cyrus's hand.

"H-Hello," says the gardener. Jupiter puckers her lips in a grimace. "D-Did you like my poem? I composed it while holding your radiance in mind… Ahhh… All the Hearthome women are so lovely—"

While Jupiter's raking her hand across the flustered man's face, Cyrus rolls out introductions. The inhabitants of the Old Chateau seem relieved—excited even—to see new guests. They swarm the bewildered group with open arms and open hearts.

Elise has her hands behind her back. She's looking at him the same way as two decades ago. Only this time, her sentiment seems more pronounced.

"So who are they, Cyrus?" she hums.

"That's—"

"I'm Saturn, and I'm in second-in-command!" The young man marches up the grinning ghost girl. His shoulders are stiff, but he looks at her dead in the holes of her eyes. "E-Elise." He falters at that name. Her grin widens to show glimmering teeth. "I-I'm going to stay by his side, no matter what! I'll protect him!"

A hand pats Cyrus's shoulder. Mister Mori smiles down at the latter.

Elise giggles. "See? I was right, Cyrus."

Cyrus looks up from his sleeves. Cynthia gestures to B-2. He walks forward with the box.

"What…" Cyrus clears his throat. "What is that, B-2?"

"A surprise, doc." B-2's lips are stretched in an idiotic smile. "Open it."

A shock sparks upon connection. Static roars in Cyrus's ears… but oddly enough, it's a familiar sound. A familiar sensation, as if…

"Bzzzt." Then he's teleported back to that dark and stormy night. "Bzzt… rus… bzzt…" Further than that. Candles. A television. A ball of light.

Cyrus glances around the room. "Did someone call me?" _No, it seems… It wasn't any of you?_

"Bzzt! Cyrus—zzt!"

Air is rushing out faster than the rate of inhalation. The trembling has returned. _Am I hallucinating again? No… no, this isn't the same as before. This is… there's only one thing that…_

He lifts the lid. It's the toy robot that he made for Elise, once upon a time. And when eyes meet, the robot waves a hand as if in greeting.

"You—bzzt—came back---bzzt!" chirps the Pokemon. "You came back—bzzt—Cyrus, my friend!"

The robot's eyes light up when Cyrus brings it to his chest. The Pokemon is emitting lots of electricity—he can feel it, but it doesn't shock him. At this moment in time, it's just the two of them in this attic, just him and—

"Rotom," Cyrus whispers, the name coursing down his parched throat like sweet rainwater. "T-That was you, wasn't it? Y-You saved us… I-I haven't seen you I thought y-you weren't I… T-They threw you away. I-I-I searched the r-rubbish heap b-b-b-but…"

He babbles on and on until a metallic hand grazes his cheek. Cyrus buries his face into the pulsating robot toy. He's exposing himself to all those accursed things that got him into this mess in the first place… and yet…

Cyrus isn't aware of the Grunts high-fiving themselves. Of Saturn's great sigh, of Mars brightening grin, of Jupiter's fumbling around for a napkin he can use. And Cynthia's covering her mouth, her eyes watery and bright.

Then it hits him. He rubs his eyes, and it's still there. The clarity. Fuzzy edges around his vision, a once common companion, had left. He feels strangely refreshed, as if he had awakened from a much needed 8-hour sleep.

Cyrus had finally reached the other side of the tunnel.

"Bzzt—Cyrus! Bzt, bzt, bzt!" Light from the robot's eyes spill onto his arm cast. Cyrus peers down. _What…_ He frowns. _What is that?_

"B-2?"

"Yes, Doctor Cyrus?"

Everyone holds their breath when Cyrus looks up. "Why did you draw a male genitalia on my cast, B-2?"

The Grunt gasps. "How'd you know—" Then his expression quickly smooths over. He spreads his hands in an innocent shrug. "That's the Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Canyon, Cyrus. Aren't you the physicist around here?"


	33. So Close Yet So Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucian acts on his suspicions. A certain detective follows his hunch. Saturn stands up for himself and disobeys his boss.

Like the two sides of a coin, there are good news and bad news. Good news: Cynthia was back. Bad news: Flint was still being a brat, Aaron was still indecisive, and Bertha had exhausted her throat from yelling.

Even Looker was standing in the corner, silent and watchful throughout the meetings. Lucian would occasionally turn his head, catching that wide-eyed stare before the detective dropped his attention back to an empty notebook.

_What the hell happened?_

The group dispatches after the meeting. Bertha leaves to get something for her throat, Aaron by her side. The hot-headed idiot probably stormed off somewhere, and that's fine with Lucian. Things will finally get done without unneeded conflict.

 _And it's all that criminal's fault!_ The Sinnoh League was supposed to be a cohesion of Trainers, banded together to preserve the dignity of Pokemon battles. Not to argue over ethics, over every little thing that emotion exacerbates.

 _Now where's Cynthia?_ She missed out on a lot. Lucian had done his research—why, he feels as if he's the only one actively pursuing this investigation—and had come up with a promising lead. Not only to this time conundrum, but to finally apprehend the Villain of Sinnoh once and for all.

 _She's not in the building. Maybe outside?_ As Lucian descends the stairs, he hears voices. Hushed whispers. Peeking around a marble column reveals a curtain of dull gold.

"…nothing amiss." The detective is also there too, sucking his triangular juice pouches dry. His eyes constantly dart around, as if…

"Did you find any new leads, Looker?"

"Not yet. Did you?"

"No."

A silence. Looker drags a hand through his scalp. "Well. I have to go, Cynthia. Um… thanks for coming back."

"Of course. That's what the Champion of Sinnoh should've done a long time ago. No more running away."

_Running away?_

A few more exchanges, and Looker leaves. Cynthia stares after his retreating back. Then she sighs. She turns around—and almost collides into Lucian's chest.

"ACK!" It's almost a scream, one that uproots his heart from the mess of veins.

"C-Calm down, Cynthia. It's me, Lucian."

"O-Of course I remember!" She turns away before he can get a second look at her face. "I remember everything now!"

Lucian frowns. "All right…" He grabs her arm before she can slip away again. It's like telling a child not to wander far away from home. "Cynthia, I need to talk to you. _Right now."_

Cynthia whips around. Lucian lowers himself so their gazes can connect. He waits for a good five minutes.

"Cynthia. Did I do something wrong?"

She hesitates. _Oh I definitely did._ "No… no, it's not you, Lucian. It's just…"

"Just what, Cynthia?'

Cynthia gently pushes him back. His mouth goes dry. "Lucian," she says flatly. "Mind your business." His eyes widen, and in that moment of hesitation, Cynthia breaks from his grasp. By the time that he recovered from that cold sting, she's already out the room.

Lucian lunges for her sleeve, much to her exasperation. "Cynthia, something's troubling you, isn't there? Tell me! That's what a team is for, yet you're treating us as if—"

Her eyes are flashing like knives. Lucian's heart climbs to his tongue. "Nothing's wrong, Lucian." Once again, she brushes aside his grip. Like it's nothing. "Why don't you go patch up with Flint?"

 _Oh. Oh, is this what it is?_ "Cynthia…" It's all he can do to keep his voice under control. "Look, that idiot started it. If he wants to work together again, then _he_ has to take initiative!'

Cynthia clicks her teeth. "Don't get me started on the way _you've_ been acting as of late, Lucian!'

"M-Me? What did I—Oh… is this about Mesprit? Well, I assure you that anyone would've done the same to protect a _friend!"_

Lucian stops to catch his breath. Cynthia is staring at him.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, a hand on his chest. "I just feel like… It's frustrating, seeing how I'm the only one doing anything productive… Everyone's off in their own direction, and the cohesion that we once shared… well…"

_I don't know if I can fix it._

"Lucian." Cynthia's tone is softer now. She's looking at him in the eyes. "Don't beat yourself up too much." A hand taps his nose. "This whole paralysis thing messed up a lot of heads, I know. You're just stressed."

_Is it now?_ Lucian rubs his temples. It certainly feels as if something heavy and foreboding is pressing against his consciousness, yet attempts to pinpoint the problem yields no results.

"I think you just need some time to think, Lucian." A breeze runs its fingers through golden silk. She casts a glance at the skies, so blue and bright. "I think we all need some time for ourselves."

Lucian frowns. Cynthia smiles, and his doubt quavers. "I need to do a little rain check, Lucian. I'll be back for dinner."

* * *

When Cynthia summons Togekiss, Lucian pulls out a Poke ball of his own.

_I'll tell him eventually._ Xatu appears in a flash of light. _They don't have Poffins over there. He'll probably like the sweet ones, based on his personality… and he's not the type to hold a grudge. I hope._

"All right, Xatu. Follow—"

"WAIT!"

Xatu cringes under the sudden weight. Lucian whirls back, and to his disbelief, Flint's fingernails are digging into the bird's feathers.

"What are you _doing?"_ Lucian hisses. "You're hurting her!"

Flint's legs are dangling in the open air. "Oh, well, _excuse_ me! Don't mind me, I'm just falling to my death!"

Cynthia's fading into the distance. Lucian grits his teeth. _Damn!_ He reluctantly reaches over to help the stupid fool.

"Whew! Man, that would've not been fun at all."

Lucian crosses his arms. Fling slowly, painfully turns his head back to the scowling man.

"Lucian."

"Flint."

Silence. Xatu's eyes dart up to its passengers. Wind streams past the majestic wings.

Flint scratches his afro. "Listen, man… Um… S-So. Volkner and I had a talk, and… um…"

Lucian feels like his wisdom teeth are pushing out. It's _that_ unpleasant. "C-Cynthia and I also had a talk." Flint drops his gaze. "She said… er… s-she said…"

More silence. Xatu sighs.

"Look," says Flint. "This recent time-going-out-of-whack-thing is stressing everyone out, including the Pokemon. We get a little hot under the collar… b-but it shouldn't… burn us out…"

"Hmm. Well. I suppose that I _was_ a tad too harsh on you…" _But I'm right about Volkner, that lazy…_ "And… nothing gets done if there's no cooperation…"

Flint reluctantly raises a fist. Lucian stares at it… then he gingerly bumps knuckles. The tension dispels like a breath of fresh, sweet air. Lucian briefly debates on turning away and ignoring Flint for the rest of the ride.

After the most awkward apology in the world is made and accepted, Flint snaps back to focus mode. "So. Where are we going again?"

_How in the world did you make that stupid leap?_ "Because." Lucian keeps his tinted gaze to the horizon.

"Because…?"

Lucian scowls. "Because I feel—no. I _know_ that she's hiding something. Always running off without telling us, her team? Something… someone might be hurting her, and we're left in the dark!" Lucian slams his fists on his laps. "Damn me if that criminal got his paws on her…"

Flint looks visibly uncomfortable. "Um… Lucian?"

"What? Speak a little louder, we're quite high up."

"Do you…" He drops his voice. "Do you really think that Cyrus is alive?"

That name sends cinders up his neck. Lucian yanks off his glasses, relieving pressure off the pulsating veins under his eyes. "Oh, that _freak_ is alive, I assure you. The region is still in chaos. And besides, that pathetic display at the prison was just to divert our attention so he can proceed with his world domination!"

Flint scoots back. He's not saying anything, which strikes Lucian as strange. _Usually that hothead has a lot to say…_

Lucian shakes his head, turning back to the expansive blue skies. "Okay, Cynthia… Now, where are you going?"

* * *

_"Cyrus—zzt! Hey, hey! Look what I can do—zzt! Backflip! Wooooaaahh—bzzt!"_

_"No, Cyrus, watch me dance!"_

_"Nah—zzt. You'll never—zzt—get better—bzzt."_

"Boss?"

_"That is no way to speak to a lady!"_

_"You got two—bzzt—left feet!"_

"Master Cyrus?"

_"You brute! Tasteless Pokemon! Someone should ground you!"_

_"Nah, sister—zzt. Me and the boy—zzt—are tighter than oil in motor—zzt."_

"Cyrus!"

A solid hand clamps on his shoulder. Cyrus gasps. In front of him are…"Oh. I apologize." He rubs his eyes. _Focus, focus._ "Where are we?"

Saturn puts down the Old Notebook. "Um… we finished the tour a while ago, Boss. Then you just kind of… spaced out."

_"See, Elise—bzzt? You made him space out!"_

_"Me? You're the one pulling on his hair!"_

_"Cyrus!"_ The gardener runs into the room for the fourth time today _. "Cyrus, I have arrived with a new proclamation! Please present this to the beloved Jane!"_

Rotom smirks at the envelope. _"You got no chance, dude. She won't be—zzt—moving on anytime soon—bzzt!"_

"Rotom!"

The Pokemon, Elise, and the gardener all freeze at that tone. Mars edges closer to her Commanders and whisper, "Is Boss still hearing things?"

"I… _think_ he understands the Ghosts, but Rotom too?" Saturn watches as that lighting rod begins to weep, much to Cyrus's disbelief. "Well… he did have a bad fall…"

Jupiter clears her throat. "Um… Cyrus? Why are you yelling at Rotom?"

"It spoke out of turn."

"What?"

"Rotom said…" Cyrus slumps back to the chair, a hand pressed against his temples. "Never mind." _Who am I, to bring up old wounds?_

Mister Mori arrives with a tray of tea. He offers the Commanders, who simply stare blankly. _"Please forgive the gardener, Miss Jupiter. He misses his beloved very dearly."_

 _"Well, pity him."_ Elise leans closer to the wheelchair. _"You cannot begin to fathom my delight, now that you've returned, Cyrus."_

_"Bzzt—nah, sis! I'm 110% more delighted—zzt!"_

Elise scowls. _"You had your change to see him! Flying out during the storm like that!"_

 _Speaking of which…_ Cyrus rubs the trench between his ribs. There's still the metallic taste in the back of his throat. "Rotom?" The Pokemon jolts. "Rotom, that was you, wasn't it? Back at the prison…"

A small smile forms on its face. "How?" Cyrus whispers. Mars begins to open her mouth, but Saturn nudges her.

Rotom raises a pulsating axis to Cyrus's cheek. His skin tingles, but the shock never came. _"You and I—zzt—are bonded on a much deeper, incorporeal level—zzt. I waited—zzt—for you to come back, you see—zzt—after they threw me away."_ Then it frowns. _"Honestly, I never thought—zzt—you'd turn yourself into a—zzt bzzt—lightning rod, kid. But the lightning connected you to me—zzt. I heard your thoughts for the first time…"_

Rotom gently smacks his chin with a dead battery that it picked up from the floor. _"Your head is so—bzzt—depressing—zzt—you know? Maybe I should've shocked you harder—bzzt."_

The Pokemon rolls its eyes. Cyrus's expression softens, and he coughs into his sleeve. Jupiter's face breaks into alarm, but he holds up a hand. "Worry not, Jupiter. I don't taste the blood." She frowns, and he turns back to Rotom. "Thank you. For… for saving us."

_"Hehehe—zzt. What are friends for, Cyrus—zzt?" Friends…? So back then, what you were saying was… it wasn't a lie…?_

Elise looks back and forth between the two. _"I helped too,"_ she huffs.

_"You most certainly did, young mistress."_ She beams. _"You opened the gates of the Old Chateau to welcome Cyrus and his team."_

Cyrus nods. "Yes, and you opened your home to all of us." He glances to his Commanders. "We simply cannot thank you enough."

Rotom sees the look on his face and giggles. _"Hehe—zzt. Bzzt. That boy, Cyrus. He reminds me of you."_ That warrants a small frown, to which Rotom shrugs. _"I say it as I see it, brother—bzzt."_

Elise compares the two faces. _"You even gave him your notebook."_ Saturn blinks, and Cyrus looks away, muttering a sort of half-hearted excuse. _"Oh, he certainly did become a fine young man."_

Cyrus's lips ache from frowning. "Jupiter, I wish to go outside."

"Huh?" He continues to stare at her until her scowl cracks, and she sniffs. "W-Well. I don't see why not… A little fresh air might be good for you."

"Thank you, Jupiter."

"Arceus, Cyrus. Don't go all Pachirisu-eyes on me…" _Go what?_

"It's my turn to push the chair!" Mars says.

"Nah, it's my turn!" Saturn snaps. "You got to push him around yesterday, and you almost made him fall down the stairs!"

"Well, the boss _gave_ me permission to ride it around like a shopping cart!"

"Damn it, Mars, do you _want_ him to get another concussion?"

Jupiter gives an uneasy smirk. "Saturn, he's all yours."

"Hey!"

"Haha, suck it, Mars!" Saturn slams his palms on the handle, sending a small earthquake to Cyrus's core. The latter has to remind himself to breathe. "Let's go, Boss! To the forest!"

Elise and Mister Mori make way for the colorful trio. The girl skids to a halt before the doorway.

_"I want to play with Cyrus!"_ She stomps her shaky legs to the groaning floorboards. _"I want to go outside! It's not fair!"_

Elise calms down at the butler's gentle grasp. _"We've served our purpose, young mistress."_ She blinks. The old man chuckles. _"The boy finally found his family. He deserves every minute with them… There's no room for us to interfere anymore."_

* * *

A pleasant breeze kisses his cheekbones. Sweet, aromatic arms sweep foliage aside for the wheelchair to glide down the pebble-laden path.

"Boss?"

"Shh."

"I'm awake." Cyrus rubs his eyes. _Still no good. Perhaps…_ He squints until he feels his eyeballs vibrating. _No… still broken…_

"It's so green," Jupiter hums, her voice carrying down the breathing forest. "Oh, look at the flowers. I've never seen such a crimson hue."

_"Hey—zzt!"_ Saturn yelps when that lighting rod whizzes past. _"Hey hey hey—zzt! The main guest—zzt—has arrived to the party! Cyrus—zzt! I'm right here! CYRUS! CYRUS!"_

"Rotom, you are giving me a headache." The Pokemon deflates. Cyrus purses his lips. "No, I didn't mean… No, don't cry. Just… keep your voice down."

_"You're the only one who can hear me, Cyrus—zzt."_

Saturn speaks up. "Um. Boss. We can go back—"

"I am fine." There's a ringing in his ears. Rotom is discharging ample electricity. But he can't keep up his mask around its company.

"Hey, Doc!"

Cyrus perks up. "Ah. B-2. R-8." Rotom opens its mouth, but he silences the Pokemon before whatever crude thing can flow from that motor mouth.

R-8 grins. "Wow, you're finally outside, Cyrus. Welcome back to the world of the living."

"It has indeed been a while," Cyrus mutters. "Ah, B-2? I have a question."

"Oh sure, shoot it, Cyrus. There's no such thing as a dumb question."

Cyrus nods. "This. Was this a novel discovery in science? This Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon?"

B-2 chokes on dry air. Cyrus leans forward, eagerly gesturing to his cast. "Champion Cynthia was considerate enough to lend me the newest edition of the Sinnoh Encyclopedia. However, there were no entries on such a cannon."

Rotom squints at the cast. _"Cyrus—zzt. That's a pe—"_

"What is the relative size of such a cannon, B-2?" Said Grunt is blinking like a dumbstruck Chatot while the younger Commanders struggle to contain their breathing. Jupiter simply rolls her eyes.

"Um… it depends?" B-2 grunts.

"I see. Is the name connected with the first astronaut to ever walk on the mo—Excuse me, R-8. Why are you hitting the ground?"

"I CAN'T--!" she wheezes. "YOU--! HOLY ARCEUS--!" Then she's slapping the pebbles as if she's hitting slots at the old Veilstone Game Corner.

A hand falls on his head. Jupiter ignores his staring and continues to pat that fluffy nest.

Then the ground begins to tremble. Cyrus clenches the armrest until his knuckles turn white. **_BOOM!_** Lightning flashes before his eyes. Rain. Fire. But when the world returns to light, there's just a Budew in his arms.

In fact, there's a crowd of forest Pokemon around him. Budew is yipping. The Cascoon fidget, the Starly flapping their wings in nonverbal warning.

"What's happening?" Mars murmurs when a Drifloon tugs her hand.

Rotom hovers closer to the bud. _"Hmm? Bzzt… Budew says… there's someone—zzt—in the forest."_

That implication churns his stomach to tatters. "Is… Is Champion Cynthia?" he whispers.

Budew shakes its head. As Rotom translates, the vicegrip around his lungs squeeze tighter and tighter until he sees nothing.

**_BAM! BAM!_** A glistening needle dipping into his skin, pressing deeper and deeper through layers of fat, destroying flesh—

"BOSS!"

Cyrus yanks his head back. "Mars. Saturn. B-2, R-8. Gather everyone and tell them to come back _now!"_

Said people instantly scamper away. A scathing wind slices through the silent air, scattering leaves about the ambiguous skies.

_How much time do I have?_ "Jupiter, we need to go back _now!"_

"W-What?"

_"Cyrus-zzt… what happened? Cyrus?"_

 _Of course, of course…_ There's a hollowness in his chest. A coldness spreading to his fingertips, his toes. _I lowered my guard. Careless! How stupid can you be? Of course you can't run away!_

_In the end of the story, good always triumphs over evil!_

* * *

The Grunts are silent as their boss paces around in that wheelchair, surrounded by a grim-faced Gengar and a mass of Ghosts.

"How much can the basement hold?" Cyrus counts heads. "No, there's too much… I see what you're suggesting, Mister Mori, but that'll just draw in more suspicion."

Rotom is buzzing around his head. "I'm sorry?" His brow furrows. "No, the attic will be one of the first places he'll look, Rotom. From the outside, there are three stories. It's natural human instinct to follow up on a hunch…"

Gengar gestures to the air. Cyrus frowns. "No, we have a contract. We agreed on the terms. Champion Cynthia wouldn't…" Then he blanches. "No… But we… No, she promised…"

Jupiter's hand comes as a flick to his neck. "Cyrus." She wheels him back to the audience. "We're here too, remember? See? At least _I_ can touch you."

Cyrus gasps. "Yes, of course! You can take the Drifloon! But then you'll have to split into groups…"

"Boss," Saturn mumbles. "What the hell is going on?"

"N-No. I have an idea." Cyrus fumbles for his Poke balls. "Five minutes… Two? No, we don't have time for—"

"Boss!" Saturn snaps. "Boss, we're your team too! You _have_ to let us know what's going on!"

"He found me." There's nothing in that voice. "He's coming to arrest me as we speak."

Dead silence follows that statement. "Based on what Rotom told me, he came alone." That monotone is back. Much chillier than Saturn remembers. "The convoy must be camped around the forest then." He's glancing out the windows, a hand shielding his neck.

"Cyrus!" Jupiter hisses. "Who's coming? What are you talking about?"

And when Cyrus reveals the answer, the life leeches from everyone's eyes. 

"So what's the plan?" B-2 wheezes.

"The plan is to _run,_ B-2." Cyrus coughs into his sleeve. "Even if we _do_ outnumber him, reinforcements will surely come. And if two sides do interact, he'll only have proof to confirm his theory. Nowhere will be safe anymore…"

"But I don't want to leave!" Mars huffs. "And this place has meaning to you, Boss! You can't just throw it all away again—"

"Mars, how many times will you allow your _ugly_ sentiment to blind you from the truth?" Cyrus slams a palm against the frame. Gengar frowns. "You and Saturn take half of the Grunts to the garden path around the back. Jupiter, take the other half by sea. Use Gyarados to—"

Saturn smacks the Poke ball out of his boss's hand. **_THUMP!_** The capsule rolls on the floor, stopping by Cyrus's feet.

For a long, tense second, no one moves. Frost is spilling from Cyrus's eyes. A blizzard is flickering back to existence. "You would dare—"

"Enough of your nonsense, Boss!" Saturn hisses. "They were right! Something _is_ definitely wrong with you head!"

_"Watch your tongue, Saturn."_

"N-No. NO! Master Cyrus, you listen to _me!_ We're a team, and we'll get through this _together!_ I'm not leaving anyone behind! I'm not losing anyone! _I won't let that ever happen again!"_

Saturn had shoved his face well into Cyrus's personal bubble. The older man is pressed tightly against the back of the chair, his shoulders stiff, his lips slightly parted in a frozen gasp. Saturn forces himself to ignore the trembling by directing his gaze to the side, where Rotom is gaping at the scene with open jaw.

**_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._**

"Do you realize what you're implying, Saturn?" That voice starts out as a whimper. The man drops his gaze, jerking his head to the side and snatching Saturn's heart along with it. "If you take everyone and run right now, there's still a chance that you'll escape. Improbable, but not impossible.

"But me? I'll just slow you down." Cyrus glares past the blanket. "What can I do? Fall over? The authorities are looking for me specifically. Not… you. Not Mars, nor Jupiter… I can buy you time. Be realistic, Saturn… not everyone is worth waiting for."

Those eyes speak a different story. _"Don't you get it? That's all I'm good for. You're staking your own future to protect the likes of me. What don't you understand? Leave! Stop arguing and leave, Saturn! Please, just leave!!"_

"But what good is a future without you?" Saturn murmurs. Those dreams from once upon a time still lingers in his mind. That rainy day. That bleak skies lit aglow by the brilliant sun…. The moment when "home" encompassed more than a roof over his head.

"I have a plan, Master Cyrus."

A spark of light slips into those vacant eyes. Cyrus's brows are furrowed, but he's not frowning. He's waiting, like everyone else.

"That's a great idea!" Mars whispers once Saturn finishes explaining. "That way, we won't be running away!"

"If it works." Jupiter clicks her tongue. "But time is not on our side. Do you still think we can pull it off?"

"Improvisation is a specialty of a Galactic Grunt!" B-2 huffs, smacking his hips. "We're a team, after all!"

"Not just any team," his colleague adds with a small smile in one direction. "We're employed by the best, after all."

Saturn returns his attention to his boss, the former's hands clasped behind his back as if awaiting further orders. Gengar's grin is wide, but not at all malevolent. It nudges the man, whispering something in his ear.

"But… What will I do?" Cyrus croaks.

"You just stay out of sight, Boss. We'll take care of everything." The gears are cranking loudly in that complicated brain of his. "We'll be careful," Saturn says, and Cyrus closes his mouth. "Trust us, Boss."

It takes a while, but those lips finally unlatch. "All right." Cyrus is nodding intently. He straightens. "All right, Saturn… I'll entrust this operation to you. Just… just be careful."

Despite everything that has happened as of late, Saturn finds himself grinning. And suddenly very, very warm. "T-Thanks, Master Cyrus. I won't disappoint you."

Grunts are whispering excitedly in the background. Mars is giggling into her hands, and Jupiter has her arms crossed, a satisfied smirk on her lips. Cyrus finally snaps out of his stunned stupor to turn to the Ghosts.

"Your full cooperation is much appreciated, "he tells them. "I wish to borrow your wardrobes. Yes, ma'am, please bring your cosmetics if you can. Mister Mori, please see it that assistance is offered if needed. Elise… Mars?"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

The man presses a sleeve to his mouth. "Elise wishes to do your hair."

Mars blinks. "Um. Sure…" The Ghost waltzes over, examining the Commander from all angles before it sifts its ghostly paws through threads of fire. "Oh… Well. This is a first," Mars's voice is faint.

As Jupiter is being led down by a pair of chittering Haunter, Cyrus rolls up to Saturn. The man has a piece of blue fabric in his hand, presumably given to him by one of the Ghosts.

There's a particular expression on his boss's face. That very rare, very subtle gesture that renders all money, all material gifts in this world insignificant. That one emotion often overlooked in the man's impassive mask, but right now it's there, shining in all its radiant glory.

"Do you still need help with tying a necktie?" Cyrus mutters. "Erm. No, of course you don't. You're not a child anymore. My apologies."

"I don't mind," Saturn wheezes. Cyrus tilts his head… but he nods and proceeds to spin magic upon Saturn's outfit. The young man is breathing through his mouth now, and he's vaguely aware of the low kettle noise hissing through his teeth.

"I-I'll make you p-proud, B-Boss…"

And the boss makes a faint sound in his throat. "I know, Saturn."

* * *

Eterna Forest. So fittingly known as "The Place Where Time Stands Still."

He can't see the skies, save for the slivers of grey sunlight peeking through the leaves. The difference between this and city air is made so shockingly apparent.

"Now, let's see…" His voice reverberates through the lush greenery. _Crunch, crunch,_ goes the crunching foliage. The Pokemon peek out, scampering away as suddenly as they came.

Looker whirls around. _Of course, there's no one._ Just a Gastly, who giggles and dematerializes into the breeze. _Wait. Where's my gun—Oh. No, that would defeat the whole purpose of this secret mission._ Looker takes a deep, pollen-scented breath, but still his heart refuses to calm down.

It feels like he had committed a grave crime, going against protocol like this. But he has a good feeling about this hunch.

He slips his hand into his pocket, gripping the icy handcuffs. _No, no, act now, think later! It's too late to turn back…_

 _Oh, there's quite a lot of Ghost Pokemon in the forest._ Looker spots a flock of drifting Drifloon. Murkrow staring down at him. There's the deeply disturbing sense that he's being watched, but it's just the Pokemon… _It's just the Pokemon,_ he tells himself over and over.

"Be careful."

Looker almost chokes on his heart. He stumbles backwards, narrowly avoiding a tree to the forehead. _Tmp. Tmp._ A figure enters from the shadows. A smile upon blood-red lips. Ringlets steeped in inky midnight, shifting like a ripple in the night sky.

It's as if she was a character straight out of those archival files.

Looker quickly reaches for his hat—only to realize that he's not wearing anything—and settles for a nod instead. "H-Hello." He has to tilt his chin just to reach her gaze. "I… Hello."

The woman chuckles—a deep, soft sound that flutters through the silent air. She sweeps the veil of her pillbox hat aside, capturing his essence within her starry night skies. "A lost traveler? A Trainer? Who do I have the pleasure to meet?"

_By that accent, I'd say… Kalosian?_ "Looker." He thrusts out a hand. Her grip is strong. And under that glove, he can feel the bones, the cartilage… "I'm… I'm just looking around. And you are?"

"Janice." The second syllable comes after. She smiles again, evaporating his doubts. "I can show you the way out if you wish, Looker."

"Sure—" Looker clears his throat. "Actually, I'm quite exhausted by my travels. Would you mind if I stopped by to rest my feet?"

"Of course not," she says pleasantly. "Please, my chateau is just across the pond."

_THE OLD CHATEAU!_ Looker smooths his hair in anticipation. "You… you live around here, Janice?"

"Yes. We've been here since the conscription."

_Huh? But the last draft was…_

The walk across the overgrown path is passed in silence. Janice is humming some kind of ballad. Her evening gown exposes a good portion of that strong, lithe back, framed with violet curls.

Then they're here. A man in a traditional butler's uniform opens the rusted gates. Looker keeps his gaze on those humps for a second too long before he quietly chastises himself and looks away. A maid ushers the two people to the porch.

**_BOOOM!_** Darkness fills the skies. _Plip. Plip._ Eventually turning into a downpour. The ground is flooded within a matter of seconds. Looker extends his hand, and sure enough, that's actually rain on his skin.

_Weather reports promised sunny skies all week…_

"Oh my." Janice taps a finger against glistening lips. "Another storm… Ah, it seems like you'll be here for much longer than anticipated, Looker. I don't foresee the sun any time soon." There's something about her words that makes him uneasy, but as to why, reason escapes him. "You two. Prepare a guestroom."

The butler and maid bow. Looker follows Janice through the double doors. At first, it's dark. As if he had blindly walked into the belly of the beast.

"I apologize for that," says the butler's voice. Then a violet spark, a flame, and the hallway bursts into light.

_What the…_ The inside looks nothing like the outside. Nothing like what the archives depicted. In fact, it's very well-lived in, right down to the spotless nooks and crannies of the satin carpets. The decorated walls, the glowing chandeliers, the faint aroma of musty roses in the air…

Janice is a form that's a sight to be reckoned with, the light catching like fire in her hair. "As you can see, my chateau." She gestures to the glass windows and the storm that lies beyond. "Now, come with me. You must be starved."

The dining hall is the biggest room Looker had ever seen. She mentions for him to sit, which he does in a dumbstruck trance. He feels the fork in his hand. The woman is staring at him as if he was the most amusing thing ever.

"Everyone will be arriving shortly." _So there's more?_ "You can eat first if you're hungry." She claps her hands, and a chef rushes forward with a bottle of sparkling water. Looker, being the tenacious detective that he is, sniffs it first before proceeding to touch his poke the crystalline surface with his tongue.

"Hm. I assure you that poisoning you is the last thing on my mind, Looker."

Looker almost chokes on his drink. "N-No. I-I just…"

"Hoho. Oh, that's fine. Everyone has their preferences, and those most cautious are the ones who survive."

Looker blinks. Janice tilts her head. "Ah. There they are. Come down and meet Monsieur Looker."

Footsteps thump on the carpet, drawing Looker's gaze to the draped balcony. Two pairs of eyes bear down, a golden sun among electric-blue skies.

"Mother."

"A visitor?"

Janice flashes a curt smile to the stunned detective. "My children," she says. "Elise. Toyotaro. Aren't they simply wonderful?"

* * *

"Flint, be quiet."

"Ugh… ooof, I… urp!"

Lucian blanches at that dry heave. "Nononono. This isn't my Xatu!" He scrambles for his precious monogrammed handkerchief. "Just… breathe into it. I don't need it back."

Xatu cringes. Lucian pats the bird's head. Flint draws himself into a ball, his eyes blank and dim.

"Eterna City?" Flint mutters after a minute. Lucian frowns. _What the hell is Cynthia doing in Eterna City? We've already combed the area…_

"There's Eterna Forest," Lucian mumbles. "Could it be… she's been running off to this forest…? What could be so…" _Oh._ Adrenaline spikes up his spine. "Hurry, Xatu. Don't lose sight."

The trees are dense enough to block the ground, but Cynthia seems to know exactly where she's going. She knows where to turn, where to dip into an opening—

"YYYYEEEEEPP!"

Togekiss shrieks when a beam of darkness blasts from the canopy. Its Trainer fumbles for control. "What are you doing?" Cynthia gasps. "Why are you—"

A blue fireball whizzes past her cheek, missing her eye by a hair. The Gastly swarm together into a squirming blob, blood-curling screeches ripping from their dripping mouths.

"We have to help Cynthia!"

Lucian holds Flint back. "We'll be seen, idiot! And besides, she can take care of a few Gastly!"

"That's not what I'm seeing, four-eyes!"

And horrifyingly enough, Flint is right. As Lucian observes the battle, it seems like Cynthia is leaning towards the defensive. 

"Togekiss, Air Slash!"

The Gastly retaliate with Payback. Flint shoots to his feet, and Lucian pulls him back.

"Togekiss, Ancient Power, now!" Quivering boulders knock aside a handful of Gastly. Cynthia whips her head around, and Xatu immediately hides behind a passing cloud.

"Flint, stop breathing down my neck!"

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

Lucian stiffens. An unearthly sound grates into his ears, icy needles scraping down the walls of his heart, peeling back veins. A Misdreavus's eyes are gleaming a dangerous red.

Then a torrent of fire slams into the Ghost before it can utter that Perish Song. "Score!" Flint pumps his fists into the air. "Infernape, Fire Blast again!"

_WOOOOSSH!_ Clouds are thinning due to the intense heat. Lucian feels his hair. "Flint, you idiot!" he snaps.

"Well, this _idiot_ just saved you from eternal damnation! And besides, afros are always in season—"

"Who's there?" Cynthia barks, and the two men freeze in their tracks.

"Oh fuck!" Flint hisses.

"It's all your damn fault!" Lucian racks his brain for a backup plan, but the adrenaline had compromised his ability to think rationally. Another arc of wind slices the cloud next to them. Xatu is murmuring to what sounds like a Future Sight attack.

Flint's eyeballs are bulging out of his head. "Damn it, Lucian! What now?!"

* * *

The young man named Toyotaro gives Looker a curt nod. Those eyes are the brightest blue, a stark contrast compared to…

"It's been so long since we've received a guest." The young woman named Elise offers a curtsy. Looker, not knowing what else to do, curtsies back, earning a dainty little laugh. Those golden eyes crinkle like blossoming dandelions. "Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"Um… Looks like it." _These two look nothing alike. Nothing like their mother either._

The food arrives. "Wow." Looker whistles. "Now _that's_ a feast."

Janice laughs. "Everyone's here now. Please, Looker, enjoy yourself."

"Don't mind if I do."

And as the clock strikes midnight, dinner just… magically happens. Residents of the household join in with hefty amounts of savory foods and liquor.

"Well… just a bit." Looker accepts the smiling maid's offer. The liquid doesn't come when he tips the glass, but when he reflects on that, the sweet taste of aged wine fills his throat. As he cuts into his fatty lobster, he hears the distinctive _crink_ of metal cutting into metal. As if… _No, that's ridiculous. The food is right here! And damn, does it taste fine!_

Looker belches into his fist. It's so warm. A comfortable warmth, as if someone had draped a blanket over his chest and tucked him in. Add in the rain, and it's perfect bed weather.

"I can escort Mister Looker to his room, Mother."

"Oh, thank you Toyotaro. Take Elise with you."

Then Looker's following the young adults down a brightly-lit hallway of paintings and doors. A turn here… A corner here… Round and round and round!

"I'd expect you to have a higher tolerance," Toyotaro muses. The young man runs a firm hand over the man's pocket to righten the latter. "Now, allow me to take your coat…"

_They're such good kids._

"Your room, Mister Looker." Elise pats the bed. It's a modest guestroom of vintage variety. The detective collapses into the plush bed. _Ooh. It's so soft. So many pillows… smells so sweet…_

"Happy dreaming, Mister Looker."

"Hmm… goodnight, Taro… Lisa…"

And he drifts into darkness.

* * *

Detective Looker jolts up in that heavenly bed.

It's still raining. It's still dark outside. His hand flies to his pockets— _Oh. Good. It's still here… Where's my coat…?_

 _No, more like what the hell happened?!_ He squeezes his eyes. And groans. _Damn it! I KNEW I shouldn't have drunk! Happens all the damn time! I'm an International Police Officer, for Arceus's sake!_

Looker rushes for the door. _What the…_ The knob won't turn. "Hey!" He's pounding on the antique wood. "Hey, open up! Janice!"

_I knew I should've brought that gun!_ Looker rolls up his sleeves and backs up. _Okay. Academy training time. Ready? One… Two… Three!_

 _**BAM!**_ The door flies open, and Looker crashes to the floor. After the stars leaves his eyes, he scrambles down the now-empty hallway, past the dining hall, past the foyer…

 _What the…?_ Looker runs his hands along the wall. _No, there was most definitely a door here! But where the hell is it?!_

 _"Ru ri ra… ru ri ra…"_ Gooseflesh explodes down his neck. _C-Calm down, Handsome. You're an I-Interpol Agent. Y-You've seen p-p-plenty of stranger things…_

Looker tiptoes back down the corridor. There's a suspicious door at the end of the dining hall. And that song is coming from behind the wall.

 _"Ru ri ra…"_ A speckle of red is dancing across the empty ballroom. _Elise, right?_ She's humming to herself as she whirls, hands positioned above an unseen presence. And her lone shadow… is _rippling_ under the ambiguous light.

Looker jerks his head away. He sprints back to the light. "Ah, hello, sir." The butler and maid are cleaning the table. "Did you enjoy your meal?"

"Yes! Where's the door!" 

"Ah," says the maid. "We do apologize. The doors are quite heavy… that's the problem with this brand, you see."

"N-No not _that_ door! The main door—"

"I think it's time to wake the young master from his nap," says the butler. "Please excuse us."

And with a small nod, they're gone. Seemingly vanished into the air.

**_Ding. Dong._** _Is it still midnight?_ The paintings are glaring down on him. When he attempts to focus on faces, colors blur into a disorienting mess, so much so that the _expressions_ would _contort_.

Looker storms up the stairs. He opens doors—some of them are locked, but thank Arceus for Academy training. Library. Guestroom. Guestroom. A very disturbing pink room that he passes without a second glance. A study filled with dusty shelves, artifacts…

"What are you doing?"

Looker almost drops that model train. Toyotaro's face never changes as he crosses into the darkened room, his shoes making no sound upon the carpeted floors.

"Is this… is this your room?" Looker manages to choke out. Then he sees the handgun behind glass casing.

Toyotaro smiles. It's a polite one. "No, sir. This was my father's library. He was a fervent collector of classics." The young man runs a long finger across the books' spines. " _Maihime. Takekurabe. Hamlet. La Metamorfosi."_

Looker casts one more glance around the room, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Haha… quite observant, are you?" Toyotaro's expression softens. He sighs, his shoulder slumping with that breath. "You see, my mother remarried into the family when I was only six. Elise became my sister… All was well until winter struck, and my father couldn't leave the bed. The disease had already consumed his legs, and the doctors estimated that it was only a matter of time until…"

Silence. A grandfather clock chimes from somewhere in the mansion.

"I'm sorry," Looker grunts.

"Oh no, don't be." Toyotaro gives a soft, pained smile. "It wasn't your fault." His fingers hover over his necktie. It's a simple yet beautiful knot. "Anyhow, I shouldn't trouble a stranger with this. Do you want me to show you around?"

Looker sniffs. "Um. Thank you, but… I need to talk to your mother."

"Oh? For what, if I may ask?"

Looker hesitates. Toyotaro waits. _Well… he does appear like he's a proper young man…_ "I'm actually a police officer." He fails to see that minor twitch in the other's eye. "I'm looking for someone. Has anyone come across the chateau in the last few months?"

"Hmmm… well, soldiers. Children with Pokemon. But they never stay around, you see. Everyone's always moving on…" The young man tilts his head. "I don't recall seeing anyone out of the ordinary. Is something the matter?"

Looker pats the Toyotaro's shoulder, and the latter stiffens ever so slightly. "Thanks, son. I need to go now."

"Of… course…. Take care…"

Down the hallway Looker runs until something catches his eye. An unmarked door. So plain that it could've easily been missed by untrained eyes.

"Wait, what are you—"

And Looker kicks that door down before Janice can stop him.

* * *

"Who are you?! Show yourself!!"

"SHIT! Lucian, she's gonna kill us! HURRY UP!"

"STOP SCREAMING INTO MY EAR!"

"Stop running away!"

A blast of stale wind nicks Xatu's wing. The bird scowls, but it keeps strong. Infernape fuels the cloud camouflage while Lucian scrambles to avoid Cynthia's wrath.

_Holy Arceus we're halfway across the region already._

"Augh!" Lucian whirls back. "Flint, stop--!"

"Ow!"

"Bzzt!"

Lucian swats his hand, and the shock comes again. _Wait, what is that?_ It's too small to be a Volbeat…

"Bzzt!" And it shocks him again.

"Oh, you think that's funny, eh?" Lucian reaches for a Poke ball. And that damn ball of light laughs. It dares to mock him! "That's it! Alakazam—"

Flint slaps his colleague. "What happened to—ow!—keeping a low profile, huh?"

"Hey!" Cynthia yells. "I know we've met before! You're going to be sorry!"

"Arceus—ow! Flint, keep this… this _thing_ away from me!"

"I don't even know what it is, Lucian! OW! Why is it attacking us?!"

_More like it's playing with us!_ Lucian glares at that ball lighting in its blue eyes. "Who—or _what_ —the hell are you?!" Even though Pokemon can't talk…

The Thing spins closer to Xatu's skull with a raised axis. The bird blanches. But before Lucian can sic the intruder, the light vanishes into thin air.

"Is that Xatu?" Cynthia hisses. _Holy Arceus. O-Okay. Well, you see, Cynthia, we weren't following you because we were suspicious or anything. We… we just happened to be going to Eterna City! To look at the statue! Huh, why am I running away? Haha, well. You see—_

Xatu suddenly jerks. Lucian's chin slams to the bird's back. "What the blazes?" Flint cries.

_An updraft?_ A sudden gust of wind—of cold, stale, silver wind blasts into his face, almost ripping hair from scalp. The cloud cover dispels, but (fortunately) the guest is even obstructing Cynthia, who's hanging tightly to her Togekiss.

"X-Xatu! Hold on!"

Flint keeps his colleague's head down as the Silver Wind picks up speed. It's safe to call it a typhoon now. But if he squints hard enough, he can make out a shape… a Drifblim… with… _Holy Arceus, is that a person?!_

Then the gales of darkness land an uppercut to his chin, and Flint falls over Lucian's back. Xatu's dropping altitude, down, down, down until it collides with golden sands.

**_THUMP!_**

When the ringing finally stops, Lucian rolls off the poor Pokemon's back. He recalls the broken bird. _Damn. Will's going to let me have it now…_

"Yo, what the fuck was…" Flint suddenly leaps to his feet. A saline breeze wafts through his hair. "Hey, we're home! Lucian, it's Sunyshore!" He runs his hands down his body. "Arceus, where are my sandals?"

The sandal in question smacks his red afro. "Why did you fall from the sky? Your memories still intact?"

Flint whips around, intending to give hell to the idiot who would dare throw his precious footwear. Then he gasps, and a large grin spreads on his ruddy face.

"'Sup?" Volkner grunts. "The shooting stars came early this year."

"Man, it's been so long!" Flint wraps an arm over his friend. "Well. Actually, not that long, but still. Hey, you wouldn't _believe_ what happened to us. Lucian and I—

"Lucian? Where are you going? Don't you want to have iced tea at Volk's place?"

"No." Lucian throws himself over Girafarig's strong back. "Flint, meet me back at the League."

"Hey hey, what's the big rush?"

Lucian shoots a glare at the blank-faced Gym Leader. "Someone like you wouldn't understand, even if I used pictures!"

"Lucian…" Flint grumbles while Volkner frowns. And with one last huff, Lucian wills Girafarig down the golden sands of Sunyshore, past the armed guards, the armored vans, the rolling ocean spray…

And there's not even a wanted poster in sight.

* * *

The room is empty. Almost disappointingly so. Janice shoves Looker aside. She's also staring at the empty bed. At the closed and securely-latched windows.

"What are you looking for?" they say in unison.

Looker crosses his arms. "Ma'am. I'm actually an agent from the International Police. I have reason to suspect that you are withholding valuable information from me."

Janice's lips twist. "Like what, Looker?"

"Mother!" Elise bounces into the room, effectively shattering the tension. "Here she is! My, what an impatient little girl you are, Elise!"

"Elise?" Looker echoes.

"Yes, sir. That's Elise," says Elise, patting the Gengar's head. The Pokemon notices Looker's staring and spreads an ominous grin, and his stomach plummets.

"Mister Looker is a policeman." Heads turn to a stern-faced Toyotaro in the doorway, flanked by the butler and maid. "He is looking for someone."

Janice's eyes are stony. "Do you have proof? Looker?" She says it as if it's not his true name. And she isn't incorrect.

"Yes, it's…" _Damn!_ "Um… I left it at home, but I assure you that I am an International Police Officer! The genuine article! At times I'll be on a ship—"

"The visitors get livelier with each decade," muses the butler.

"What? N-No, it's true! I'm actually looking for a suspicious person!"

Janice's eyes narrow. "A suspicious person? At _my_ chateau?"

And Looker launches into the short version of a very long story. He pulls out that poster, and he could've sworn that the mood plunged into a scathing snowstorm.

"That _is_ quite a horrible tale, Detective Looker," Elise says once he's done. She exchanges a look with her family. "The outside world is indeed… horrifying. Now were a wanted criminal to hide in our house—"

"He's not—" Looker catches himself. The mansion's residents are staring at him intently. As if he'd lost his damn marbles. "I-I mean… Um…"

"Why did you come alone?" Janice murmurs. And for a heartbeat in time, Looker sees another person in her place. A familiar face that refuses to surface into memory, but he clearly remembers the hatred spewing from those eyes. "If you were to apprehend such a threat to society, shouldn't you have brought reinforcements? Protocol mandates…"

She then casts that aside. "Well, Detective Looker. Feel free to conduct a full sweep of our humble home. I just don't feel safe with a lurking menace…"

Looker swallows the dry lump in his throat. Everyone is nodding, but the gesture is forced.

"All right then," Janice says. "Let's snuff out that rat bastard."

* * *

"I apologize for the inconvenience, ma'am."

"Oh, no harm done, Detective. It pleases me to know that calamity will not befall my family."

Looker coughs politely into his fist. "Um… sorry again for going back for the fifth time. I just wanted to double-check."

Janice hands him back his coat. "I understand. You detectives are so meticulous in nature. Stubborn, reckless, I daresay… but very much dedicated to your pursuit of justice. Quite admirable."

That statement incites a burst of warmth up Looker's cheeks. "Y-yes… No one appreciates good cops nowadays." He didn't mean for the woman to hear that. But she does, and she gives him a mysterious smirk.

"Farewell, Detective Looker," Elise sighs. "We've only met for so brief…"

"I have to go back to Headquarters, Elise." Looker blinks—hard. He's never the type for farewells. This emotion thing is always hard. "But I'll stop by soon—"

"Oh, we can't possibly ask that," Janice says. "Just visiting us is enough. Surely you have better things to attend to, yes?"

Toyotaro gives him a small nod. "Happy travels, Detective Looker."

"Bye, son." The young man stiffens. Looker just keeps smiling as his throat fills with phlegm. "J… Janice. These two will grow up to be wonderful adults. I just know it."

"Oh. Is that so?" Janice's smile is…. odd, to say the least. She puts her hands on their shoulders, herding them back. "Well. Farewell then, Looker. We'll meet again soon."

"Okay." Looker keeps waving until the mansion recedes back into the forest. _Crunch, crunch…_ It's light outside now, as if time had stood still while he was inside the Old Chateau. In fact, the ground is dry. No puddles. No sign of that recent storm.

_They're such nice people… Fate can be so cruel sometimes._ Looker dabs his eyes with a sleeve. _I guess there are strange things in this world after all. Oh well. At least my search for Cyrus hasn't been in va…_

Looker freezes. _Wait a minute. The Old Chateau is… There weren't any stairs, but…_

_But there's a third floor._

Looker rushes back through the gates. Instead of going to the door, he produces that foldable jet pack from his pocket. The mansion is exactly as it should be in the daytime: old, neglected, and crawling with ivy.

"Sorry, Janice." The jet pack wheezes, but it fulfills its function nevertheless. It's too dusty to peer inside, so with a little fingernail action, Looker slides the glass pane out of place.

_It's so dark._ A darkness that even light cannot penetrate. But something must be here… it's the perfect squatting place for—

Blue. A wheelchair with its back to Looker. A splotch of faded blue. A head.

Looker lunges through the window, handcuffs in hand. "There you are, Cy--!"

But it's not Cyrus. It's a boy. A pale, fragile child with his hands folded over his laps, his eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Sitting on the wheelchair like it's his throne, a blanket draped over his legs.

Looker's hands fly to his mouth. The boy isn't moving… not doing anything except sitting there… his chest perfectly still.

And the strangest thing is, Looker could've sworn that he'd seen this child before. A brief glimpse perhaps, but that image was forever seared into his retinas. He fails to conjure the exact memory, but his heart remembers. It remembers the moment when it quivered into bloody tatters.

Something shifts in the shadows. Red. Six pulsating spikes. Patches of blackness, unfurling to the light, wings unlike anything Looker has ever seen before.

_Clink. Clink._ Time stands still as floorboards creak, as muted colors fuzz into existence behind the sleeping prince. A swaying motion. Orange. White. A lone red eye, glinting in the darkness…

And the unmistakable smell of burnt human flesh.

Looker almost cracks his skull on the way out. The jet pack screams as it slices across the blue skies, past leaves, Starly, Drifblim, Murkrow… passing everything until the billowing flags of the Sinnoh League crawls into sight.

When Looker finally reaches an area blanketed by sun, he finally looks over his shoulder. It's perfectly peaceful.

There's no sign that a winged monster had been chasing him.

* * *

Cynthia bursts into the door. "Cyrus, the—" Then she sees them.

" _What are you wearing?"_

B-2 shrugs. "What's wrong with a little cosplay, Cynthia? Grown-ass adults do it all the time."

"Oh yes," R-8 murmurs. "I just _love_ being a maid. Oh, but this apron's so cute though…"

Cynthia takes a step back. Around her, Grunts are all half-dressed in vintage outfits. "Did I… Did I miss something?"

"Hey!" Mars waltzes into the room. "Welcome back, Cynthia!"

"Hi, Mars! Ooh, who did your hair? That's quite lovely."

Behind the grinning Commander is a scowling Saturn. He's attempting to undo his gel-pressed cowlick. When a faded Haunter offers to undo the necktie, Saturn just waves it aside.

Cynthia runs up the stairs. "Jupi— Oh wow. You look great in that evening dress."

"Thank you." Jupiter gives a timid smile. "We had a little masquerade, is all. There were some old costumes… Just… having a little fun in the middle of a national manhunt… My eyes are up here." Cynthia flushes, but Jupiter merely snorts. "You came for Cyrus, right? He should be in the attic…" She frowns. "He _should_ be up there. I'll get him—"

Gengar enters with the occupied wheelchair. Rotom is absolutely animated, whirling and chattering like a pack of hyper Bidoof.

"Ah. We… Welcome…" Cyrus stops to catch his breath, as well as to sit properly into the chair. "Champion Cynthia. You've arrived. Come to my office. We have much to discuss."

"Sure." Then she sees him for the first time. "Cyrus, did you just run a marathon or something? You look… green."

"I'm sorry? Oh. No, running away would be out of the question." Something glints in his eyes. Like he knows something she doesn't. Nothing new. "I doubt my legs can handle such strenuous activity."

"Then why are there leaves in your hair?" Jupiter musses that fluffy blue head. "Arceus, there's a branch—"

"Jupiter, see it that everyone is settling in. Champion Cynthia, I have some developments—"

"Cyrus, you'll never believe what happened!" He merely raises a brow. Cynthia licks her lips. "The Gastly suddenly attacked me! Out of nowhere!"

"The recent time phenomenon has affected Pokemon as well as humans, Champion Cynthia. There has been increased reports of wild Pokemon disturbances."

Cynthia scoffs. "I… guess… But someone was following me into the forest, Cyrus. I think they know. And I _know_ that I know them, but I couldn't tell—"

"Just be careful next time, Champion Cynthia. You weren't hurt, were you? Good." Cyrus gestures forward. "Come now. To my office. I've compiled a decent report pertaining to the Time Gears, as well as my theory behind the solution."

Cynthia puts up her hands. "Okay, okay. What's the big rush, sheesh?"

Then Cyrus stops. He turns around to the chattering crowd. They notice his presence and shut up immediately. "Stellar work," he says softly. "I'd expect nothing less."

"Oh, Cyrus!"

"D-D-Did he j-just c-c-c-compliment us?!" "

"KYAAAAHHAHAHAHAAA!"

"Of course, Doc! We're your team, after all!"

"KYAAAHAHHAAAHAAAAAAAAAAA!"

As the Grunts deal with the fallout of such simple words, Cyrus turns to his Commanders. "Mars," he says. "Very creative. Excellent improvisation on your part. Jupiter, you handled yourself professionally, as I knew you would. And Saturn…"

Saturn holds his breath. Cyrus squints at him… then he chuckles. It's a gentle, quiet sound. But it's one that makes Cynthia's heart flutter, a sound that stills all conversation in the room.

And for the first time in a while, the sun is shining directly over the Old Chateau.

"Commander Saturn." Cyrus's eyes are warm, his voice rich with genuine emotion. "Well done. You should be proud of yourself."


	34. Public Enemy Number One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia publicly denounces Cyrus on television.

"Please take a seat, Champion Cynthia."

"Okay." It did cross her mind briefly, how he still used her title. _But he's talking to me again. That's definitely an improvement._

There's just the floor, so she opts for the bed instead. Those archaic springs creak under her weight, the metal prickling into her skin. The memory of a bedridden Cyrus flashes across her eyes. Of howling storms, ghastly faces… of how a hand on the forehead almost scalded her skin… 

The windows are open, crisp forest air permeating the layer of dust. Soft sunlight trickling through cracks in the walls. The pianist's fingers dancing against notebook spines as his lips part in silent recital.

And her mind wanders back. Back to that little library in that ugly yellow house. When the waves would roll, the salinity mingling with chicken soup… the girl would listen intently as the boy breathed lives into unmoving letters. 

Looking back at it now, she wasn't paying attention to the stories themselves, but rather…

"What are you looking for, Cyrus?"

"I think it was grey… or was it black…?" Cyrus plucks out a red notebook, squinting as he leafs through the pages. "Ah. It was the grey one."

"Um… Cyrus?"

"Here we are." Cyrus presents Cynthia with the obviously red notebook.

"Um… thanks. Wow. You've been busy, eh, Cyrus?"

"All I do is lay around." Cyrus parks himself behind the boundary, but he's still close enough so they can share notes. She looks up after a minute, curious as to why there's silence.

_When was the last time he slept?_

Cynthia casually scoots closer with the notebook. He inches back. "It's… been a while, hasn't it? Since we've spoken like this." She musters a small smile. "Remember how you used to tell stories—"

"Focus." His monotone is back. "The first page. Read it."

"O-Okay…" _Sorry…_

Cyrus exhales softly, straightens, and tilts his head so his gaze falls on the cave of her chin. "This is a reduplication of my observations regarding the extraction of energy from Treeshroud Forest's Time Gear." A quick, quiet breath. "Now, this particular node. As you can see, the energy level was off the charts, and I do mean that quite literally—"

Cyrus cuts himself short when he sees her expression. "I… I digress. My apologizes, Champion Cynthia. In short, one Time Gear—despite it being smaller than my palm—contains more energy than the entire electrical grid of Sinnoh combined. I daresay that it greatly exceeds the amount that can be humanly generated in an one lifetime…

"With that much energy, I can destroy all three lakes, vaporizing them beyond recognition." Cyrus folds his hand over his lap. She scowls at him, and his lips tug gently. "Not to mention cities. Now, that's just with one Time Gear. Do you know what will happen if I am to collect all five?"

Those words choke in her throat. "The Planet's Paralysis."

Cyrus nods approvingly. "Correct, Champion Cynthia. The clock will stop if all its gears are displaced. And once I stop time, then I'm free to rewrite the order of the universe."

_"Cyrus!"_ she hisses. He regards her with vacant eyes, his lips still pressed in that disheartened smile.

But then the air changes. "A lot of things weren't adding up," he tells her, and everything irrelevant recedes into the background. Cyrus presents some old newspaper clippings. "Three months prior to my crime, a peculiar incident transpired at the Valley Windworks. For one whole minute, the wind turbines ceased to function. Officials dismissed the case as electrical failure, but the owner said…"

"That the winds stopped blowing," Cynthia finishes in a hushed whisper. "As if someone had pressed the pause button on a camcorder…"

"And then this. One month later, there were concerns of an increase in wild Pokemon attacks, not to mention abnormal patterns in the Pokemon population. A sharp decrease in Combee honey production, for instance. Empty hives were found throughout the region, seemingly abandoned… The Starly stopped migrating west, 40% of the Great Marsh's Pokemon seemingly disappearing overnight… Add that to grim reports of Pokemon washing up on the shoreline…

"And the final piece: the rise in petty crime. Theft, break-ins… Do you recall the incident with Snowpoint City's famous Clock Tower, Champion Cynthia? Vandalism. The brute punched the clock face, ripped the hands out of their sockets. Similar reports in Eterna, Hearthomre… all involving clockwork…"

"And Celestic Town," Cynthia murmurs. "Grandma told me about a drifter who attempted to deface the fresco in front of the ruins…" She looks at him. "They're all connected, aren't they, Cyrus?"

Cyrus gives her a particular look. As if he's waiting for her to slap him, to call him a crazy freak, to haul his ass out the window to the jeering mob and eager police. 

Instead, Cynthia simply sits and waits.

"Do you remember this, Champion Cynthia?" Her heart collapses upon seeing that edition. "'The Fall of the Evil Galactic Empire,'" he says with a chuckle. "Now, here's the link that doesn't fit. When I stole that Time Gear, _time didn't stop right away."_

Cynthia's jaw drops. Cyrus clears his throat. "The forest… was still alive," he mutters. "The wind still blew as I held that relic in my hands. It was only _after_ I returned to Veilstone when news caught up on the incident. In other words, time stopped five to ten minutes only _after_ my departure."

His face darkens. "Doesn't that strike you as odd, Champion Cynthia? Time should have stopped _immediately_ when the Time Gear was removed." Cyrus tilts his head. "And something very similar happened not long ago as well."

"Mystifying Forest." Her toes are tingling. She can hear her heartbeat in her skull. "But… the exact opposite happened there…"

"Very observant, Champion Cynthia. For Treeshroud Forest, time kept flowing, at least for a fleeting moment. However, in Mystifying Forest, time stopped even with the presence of the Time Gear."

Cyrus pauses so her brain can catch up. "At Crystal Cave… where Mesprit dwelled, time flowed normally while the Time Gear was present. What of Foggy Forest?"

_Arceus, how long had that been?_ "Time was flowing normally, Cyrus."

Cyrus absorbs that with a slight frown. He turns to the windows. She follows his gaze to the clear blue skies, to the breeze that grazes his silvery hair.

Then he sighs. "It's only a matter of time, I'd say." She stares back, and he offers a faint smile. "However, now we're certain of two things: the flow of time appears to be isolated from the existence of the Time Gears. Consequently… we've been approaching this the wrong way."

Cyrus hands Cynthia another notebook. This one has pictures. _He must've spent hours tracing these._

"That's Dialga." The name rushes out in a breathless whisper. She hears the crinkling of cracked lips.

"According to the legends, time began to flow when Dialga was born." Cyrus closes his eyes, his hardened features softening. He could've been by the beach, listening to the crashing waves at dusk. "The beat of its heart matches the flow of time. It has the ability to travel to the past and future…

"And do you know of the one beside Dialga?"

Cynthia exhales through her teeth. "That's… Palkia, Spatial Pokemon, the counterpart to Dialga. It's said that every breath Palkia takes stabilizes space, and thus it can control space and travel to far-off places and alternate dimensions."

Cyrus raises a brow. He gestures for her to turn the page.

"Their pictures were on the wall fresco at the entrance of Celestial Ruins." Then it hits her. "Oh, and at Eterna City too!" Cyrus is nodding, waiting for the puzzle's completion. "Wait, Cyrus, that statue… it depicted _both_ of them… Why would they be combined? Is this related in any way…?"

Cyrus wheels to the corner, where he picks up a tattered tome. It's the library book she retrieved for him. The one he specifically requested.

"'Once upon a time, the sun turned black, and the moon fell down to earth.'" His tone is flat as he flips through the yellowed pages. "The very world as our ancestors knew was falling apart before their very eyes. The seas stopped moving. The wind stopped blowing. Life just… discontinued."

"'The Dark Day of Humanity,'" Cynthia finishes. Cyrus's eyes widen. "That's… that's the mythos behind The _Cataclysm of Sinnoh,_ the book that you're holding. Grandma would use that story to scare me into staying home."

Cyrus opens his mouth. But whatever he was about to say is reduced to a nod. "And… and what happened in the story, Cy—Champion Cynthia?"

"The… The two Pokemon were battling, Cyrus." She looks straight into his bright eyes. "Every millennium, Dialga and Palkia would emerge from their respective domains in a battle for balance. Something with the alignment of the sun and moon… opening a pathway between the fabrics of space and time…

"A-And as soon as the two legendries started battling, time and space began to wrap around them! Time continued to wind back and repeat itself, and the distance between objects was becoming unclear!"

Cyrus had been staring at her rather intently, with a hand under his chin, his back angled to her direction. Then once he realizes that she had finished talking, he yanks himself back to his side of the boundary.

"It's possible…" Cyrus clears his throat. Averts his gaze. "It's possible that the people who made the statue… saw the two legends inside a distortion of space and time."

Cynthia blinks. Cyrus continues. "There was no victor to that battle, as it had been for thousands of eons. Both sides exhausted themselves and returned to their realms… thus returning the natural balance to the world. 

"But." Cynthia jolts at his tone. "But if we are to assume that history is repeating itself, the battle should have been decided quite a while ago. Space… is stable. But time…" He purses his lips. "Time is standing still. The balance is broken."

"So that myth… wasn't a myth?" Cynthia stares at the man with newfound awe.

"Every story has a seed of truth," he says to the floor. Words from a long, long time ago. "And this is the most promising lead so far, Champion. Redirect your attention to the base of Eterna Statue. What strikes you as odd?"

Her eyes scan each individual document. _Dialga… Palkia… The sun… The moon…_

_Wait a minute. There, on the fresco… on the decorated base… there, in the skies of a richly-illustrated storybook… Even in these children's stories…_

Cynthia fumbles for the White Moonstone. "It's the inscription!" she exclaims. Yes, her heart is pounding again. "Cyrus! Cyrus, it's the same inscription on my Moonstone! On your Sunstone…! It's… Yes, these keys, they're… They're all connected!"

"Excellent observation--"

Cynthia leaps to her feet, and she yanks the handles of his wheelchair. "We _have_ to go back to Fogbound Lake! To the statues!"

"Wait—"

"The treasure is just—"

_"Champion Cynthia!"_

She cowers like a scolded child. Cyrus exhales sharply, his fingers pinching his temples. "Champion Cynthia… must you always jump to conclusions? Rushing recklessly ahead will only endanger you and the people who care about you. _Sit down."_

Cynthia drops her ass down. "There are still stray puzzle pieces," Cyrus says. "Think about it. For example, have you ever considered _why_ the White Moonstone is in your possession? For a hallowed relic, why was it carelessly thrown in the sand? Why would _humans_ be a part of this equation—"

_"Agh,_ shut up and go already! You're just sitting around!" 

His mask cracks just like that, and soon he's glaring into her face. "I'm sorry, but must I remind you how _you_ act on every spontaneous hunch that crosses your mind, never paying heed to the consequences?!"

"W-What?! Don't lecture me like I'm a stupid child--"

"How many times have you exposed yourself to danger? How many times have you ran away without telling anyone? How many times have you gotten _hurt?"_ Cyrus is right within touching distance. And he's _furious._ "You're right: you're not a child anymore, but that's not what _I'm_ seeing, Cy--"

The wall thumps, and the door creaks open to reveal an eavesdropping Mars. "Hey," she squeaks. "Um. Rain check—"

"What is it, Mars?" Cyrus snaps.

Mars yelps. "U-Um… It's done, Boss. Master Cyrus, sir. _Capo._ "

Cynthia doesn't like the sound of that. "What's done?" she hisses. 

Then Cyrus slumps back into his chair, a sleeve covering his mouth. "I-I'm sorry, Mars. Go ahead. I'll join you soon." The Commander is hesitant to leave, but he insists with a wave of his hand.

He turns back to the scowling woman. "I… I overstepped my bounds. I'm sorry, Champion Cynthia. I… I know my place, I assure you."

All the rage fades in an instant at that emotion on his face. "N-No," she gasps. "Cyrus—"

"Focus." He moves to the side, holding the door open. "Come with me, Champion Cynthia. There's something I'd like you to see."

* * *

The sound of approaching wheels freezes Saturn in his tracks. He runs his hands down his clothes and face.

"M-Master Cyrus!" He sounds joyously drunk. With a barely suppressed grin. "L-Look. W-We. Fixed!"

Cyrus nods approvingly. "Well done," he says warmly. "I knew you were--Saturn. Saturn." His expression is grim. "Saturn, are you all right? Saturn?"

"Don't worry," Mars says to Cynthia's bewildered gawking. Saturn is hyperventilating, and it seems that no one but Cyrus is lifting a figure to help the poor boy. "Happens every time he gets the Boss's attention."

Rotom bounces into sight. "Bzzt." The Plasma Pokemon guffaws when Saturn has to cover his nose with a napkin. Cyrus frowns, and Rotom immediately slips into the television. Static flashes to life. Lines. Pictures. Color oozing to the screen.

_"Today on a Trainer's Day! What's fishing? Trainers with Rods!"_

_"Now on the Planting and Watering Show—"_

_"Happy-Happy Egg Club—"_

_"On the latest edition of Sinnoh Sports! Crasher Wake, the Torrential Masked Master, seizes yet another victory! With his signature 'CRASH!' this heavyweight champion dominates—"_

"Cyrus?"

_"Now, Sinnoh Now! with breaking news on Mt. Coronet, storm weather watch! Breaking news: The Sinnoh Weather Institute confirmed that this is_ not _a natural storm. All research activity has been indefinitely suspended."_

"What… is that?" Jupiter murmurs. "Why are the clouds… red?"

"Creepy stuff happens on Mt. Coronet," R-8 grumbles. "Creepy mountain. Creepy ghosts. A weird room with dots on the floor."

"That's where they fought," Cyrus mumbles. All heads whip to his direction. "Dialga and Palkia. According to one theory, Mt. Coronet is where the Sinnoh region began…" His brow furrows, and he lapses into a thoughtful silence.

_"We will resume our up-to-date live coverage on this abnormal weather phenomenon. But for now, we bring you live, unedited updates from the Sinnoh Regional Conference! Roxy, what's the tea?"_

_"Yes, hi, Ron. We are eagerly awaiting for everyone's arrival. We're talking Fantina, the Alluring, Soulful Dancer, Crasher Wake, the Torrential Masked Masker… All the Gym Leaders. Detective Looker of the International Police will also be here to provide updates on the national manhunt."_

_"About time, Roxy. I can't wait until they arrest that Galac-TICK crook."_

Cynthia lunges for the television, but the blizzard is faster, freezing her in place with a cold, dead glare.

_"What's the hold-up, Roxy?"_

_"Oli, keep looking! Um. Well, Ron, looks like Champion Cynthia hasn't arrived yet."_

Then all eyes turn to her. "I-I'm not going," Cynthia snaps—and winces.

"And why not?" His tone is frustratingly even, despite the twitching eye.

"B-Because! They… They'll just talk bad about you—"

"I don't think you understand your position, Champion." He yanks the chair around. Even though he's sitting, she still cringes under the crackling air. "Does a _hero_ abandon her people when they need her the most?"

"Don't tell me what to do—"

"I'm not _telling_ you what to do _,"_ Cyrus hisses. "I'm _reminding_ you what the _Hero of Sinnoh should_ be doing right now." Each emphasized word is accompanied with a shake of the head. Almost as if he's… disappointed. "Remember: In the end, I'm still a wanted criminal. I'm only cooperating because of our contract, so when the duration ends—"

"NO!" Cynthia seizes his armrests. He flinches. "Cyrus, you're not the villain! You're my friend! And it's not your fault that—"

Cold claws shove her back. Gengar. Gengar is shielding him from her. Meanwhile, the rest of his team watches in horrified silence.

"To everyone else, you and I are enemies!" Cyrus jerks the wheels back, and Cynthia instinctively recoils. "Remember who you are! You're the _Hero_ who hauled this _Villain_ to justice! You are the _only_ one that Detective Looker can rely on! _Everyone_ in Sinnoh is looking to you to set things right!"

"It's not _right_ if you're being falsely accused!"

"Why must you insist on being so damn _stubborn,_ Cy--"

Then he goes completely still once her words penetrated his heart.

Cynthia's eyeballs are tingling. "C-Cyrus. Cyrus." She stills her pounding chest. His neck snaps up, only to quickly jerk away.

"No. N-No. No, you're not… That's not… right…" He's whispering into his sleeves. "No. You mustn't say that, Champion Cynthia. That's wrong."

"Cy—"

"You're letting your emotions stand in the way of your obligations. Again." His shoulders are trembling. "You always act without reflection. Can't you see that your _legacy_ is at stake…?

"You _need_ to go to the conference, Champion Cynthia. You need to clearly state your position… Calm the people's fears. Assure them that everything is all right." Cyrus raises his head, a melancholy smile on his lips. Her heart flutters uneasily. "Think about it. The one who hurt you will also be at the conference. If they're convinced that you're on the good side, they'll drop their guard around you, at least somewhat. Meanwhile, I'll finalize a plan… I'll be useful, I assure you."

Cyrus stops speaking. He turns to the television. Gengar growls, but he waves it down with a weak hand.

_"Something must've happened to Champion Cynthia. Arceus forbid that psycho got to her first. They're sending out helicopters—"_

"Fine," Cynthia snarls. "I'll go. But I'll be back, Cyrus. We'll solve this together."

_I won't abandon you ever again. A promise is a promise._

"I don't care if the meats and cheeses touch," she announces. He twitches, but otherwise remains glued to the screen. _Oh. It hasn't completely healed yet…_

His team though, is staring at her weirdly.

And with another desperate glance, Cynthia marches away, back into the light of society.

* * *

One can feel the tension of the Battle Frontier from across the sea. The Sinnoh Regional Conference is underway, and yet, nothing appears to have settled. Beyond its golden gates, prestigious leaders are making their way past a rather intimidating block of security.

And within the castle walls, a tired voice is speaking. "Lucian, stop pacing around!"

Said man hitches his glasses. "I'm moving seats, Bertha. I'd rather be in much more _likeminded_ company."

"What's wrong with sitting next to Volkner?" Aaron whimpers. "You never seemed to mind before…"

"I don't really care," yawns the Gym Leader of Sunyshore City. "More leg room for me."

"Arceus you two…" Flint rakes his fingers through his afro. There are indentions in his hair. "Volkner, focus. Lucian, what the _blazes_ is your problem?"

 _"My_ problem? That your friend is purposefully acting like a spoiled child? We are in the middle of a national emer—"

And to that, Volkner unleashes an explosive yawn. He kicks his socks on Lucian's chair, flicks his nose, and snuggles into the plush filling.

"Why are you two arguing?" Byron huffs. His beard has seen better days, and so has his complexion. "You two should be working together to apprehend that criminal!"

Roark clears his throat. "Dad. Dad, calm down. You're just tired. Here, sit down—"

"Stop treating me like an old man, damn it!"

"The situation is not pretty," mumbles Maylene as she cradles her empty stomach. She sighs.

Candice crosses her arms. "Maylene, you're not your Meditite. Break the regiment and eat something already Honestly, after all that crap at Veilstone… you need to take better care of yourself."

"Tourism shot up dramatically before it plummeted, huh?" murmurs Gardenia. "Plus, with all this time running amok, there's been a rise of G-Ghost Pokemon…"

"I disapprove of zhe police presence in Hearthome!" grumbles Fantina. Her violet hair is down today, falling past her hips. "C'est inutile! Jenny is already on zhe job! My residents are complaining about les pistolets on the streets!"

Byron slams his fists on the table. "Well, all the sooner to catch that lunatic!" Roark reaches out, only to be stopped by a glare. "He stole Canalave's time! Not to mention Snowpoint's, Jubilife's… I can't just sit still and let some madman destroy the world!"

Bertha exhales loudly. "Byron, I understand that you're stressed. However, that shouldn't give you the excuse to take it out on us!"

As the older members trade blows, Candice sinks back into her seat. "Hmm? Crasher Wake," she whispers. "What's wrong?"

The man gives a tired smile. One which she never thought she would see on a boisterous, lively man such as he. "I'm just… thinking." Even his voice is weak.

Then the double doors open. A tall man with spiky blond hair hurries into the room. Behind him is the detective with his briefcase and grim expression.

 _Clip. Clip._ A fur coat. Golden hair streaming down her shoulders, leeching all the light in the room to a singular person.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," says the Champion of Sinnoh. "Let's get this meeting started."

* * *

Looker spreads his documents on the table. "The investigation is turning up loose ends. We have tips, but none prove to be any way promising."

"You cops are just dragging your feet!" Byron growls.

"Dad!"

"No, listen up, Interpol! My city's been hit with this crazy mumbo-jumbo! We have generations of families there, lives, legacies! They all come to me, expecting me to have an answer… But I don't! And you know why? Because the people who are _supposed_ to have the answers aren't telling anyone else!"

Looker makes a deep, guttural sound in his throat. "I understand your frustration, Byron, but—"

"No, you don't! You're just a spokesperson! Bring someone that can _actually_ get things done!"

"DAD!"

"We are DOING everything we CAN!" Looker snaps. **_CRACK!_** Palms against a wooden table. "EXCUSE ME for not being familiar with TIME ACTUALLY STOPPING! I MUST'VE _MISSED_ SOMETHING RECENTLY!!"

"There's a lot of places that can hide people," Gardenia whispers after a tense silence that overstayed its welcome. "Mt. Coronet, for example."

Fantina shakes her head. "Have you seen le temps? Izz like the _sky_ is tearing in two! It's too dangereux for _anyone_ to go up there!"

"The time distortion," Bertha mutters. "It must be disrupting normal weather…"

"Well, what do we do?" Byron huffs. "We're just sitting on our asses while that _psychopath_ is running around ruining lives!"

Looker's eye twitches. Cynthia steps in. "Any luck on the remaining Time Gears?" she says.

"Guards are protecting the ones we found." Looker sighs. "Was. They _were._ Spending too much time in those places really took a toll on their minds. We even had an incident of friendly fire…" He's rubbing his hands all over his hair. "Mesprit appears to have gone off somewhere. We still have two more to locate, but given the scope of the distortion…"

Another silence. Gardenia wets her lips. "H-Have you checked Eterna Forest? I-I mean, I would've checked, but there were a lot of G-Ghost Pokemon. I couldn't get in."

"I have." Cynthia's eyes widen when it's Looker who speaks. "I fear that the distortion is reaching into the forest. Things that shouldn't be there… The past is being unwound…"

"What?" Flint grunts. "Unwound… what? The future?"

"Never mind. Now, have there been any developments on your ends?"

The Gym Leaders shake their heads.

"Um…" Heads whip to the two-person news team. Roxy jumps, but due to her obligations as a reporter, she stands strong. "U-Um… so…"

"Go ahead." Looker doesn't look too happy about it.

"Oh. Y-Yes. We were just curious about Champion Cynthia's position on this issue." Roxy musters a faint smile. "You've missed out on a lot of developments, Miss Champion. I understand that you were busy, keeping the peace and all, but do you have some time to speak to our audience back home?"

Cynthia grabs the microphone. Roxy yanks back her hand before her wrist breaks.

"First of all," Champion Cynthia says. "I apologize for not being there when you needed me the most. I've failed as your Champion, but I promise that I'll set things right."

Then she holds up that wanted poster. "This man… This criminal, mastermind of the Time Gear theft, instigator of the planet's paralysis… His phony company—The Cosmic Energy Development Corporation—is just a front for his dastardly cult: Team Galactic. A horde of pitiful, brainwashed fools lured under delusions of grandeur… tricked by grand-reaching ideologies of the 'Cosmos.' 'Galaxy.' 'Space.' 'Universe…'

"Cyrus of Team Galactic." The Champion's glare pierces through the screen. "I know that you're out there somewhere. I know that you're watching. You might think that you're safe, but we'll find you. Justice always prevails over the lowly villain in the end, sound familiar? And I, Cynthia, the Champion and Hero of Sinnoh, will personally apprehend you myself! I did it once, and I'll do it again!"

The reporters' eyes are shining. "A-And? What then??"

Cynthia's lips curl. "I think hell's too kind for an emotionally devoid _monster_ like him. He'll be put on trial of course… no one should be denied due process, after all. But he'll know the faces of those whose lives he had destroyed." She jabs a finger to an indivisible heart. "His prior confession is already _guaranteed_ to put him away for a long, long time… And if he's finally arrested, we'll have more than enough to ensure that he'll _never_ see the sun ever again."

Lucian shoots to his feet. He's clapping. Byron enthusiastically joins in. Behind the screen, homes erupt into thunderous applause. There are hugs. There are tears.

Gardenia slowly stands, followed by a groggy Maylene. Fantina stands with her arms crossed. Roark claps for a few seconds before he pulls his helmet over his eyes. Aaron goes along with the group, looking uncomfortable the whole way.

Bertha, though, seems completely taken aback. Looker does a double take, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging like an unhinged door.

"That was great!" When she receives no answer, Candice turns. Crasher Wake isn't in his seat. In fact, he's nowhere in the room. And across the table, next to a cheering Lucian, are two more empty seats.

* * *

No one dares to approach the wheelchair. The silence that stretches eventually grows heavy enough to snap spines.

Rotom peers out from the television. _"Cy… Cyrus—zzt… No… No more watching."_

"No."

 _"I detest her,"_ Elise hisses. _"How dare she—"_

"Stop."

"M-Master Cyrus…"

"Cyrus?"

"What's wrong with the television, Rotom?" Cyrus isn't aware of his voice. If he is, it shouldn't have sounded that way. If he focuses hard enough, if he can suppress this _revolting, ugly_ thing in his chest, then the fuzzy edges will go away.

_"Bzzt… Cyrus, we should stop—"_

"Rotom. _Fix_ the television _now."_

_"Cyrus, you're scaring Rotom!"_

Cyrus yanks his hand away from Elise's palm. She gasps. "Rotom," he growls. "Fix the television, NOW!"

_"Zzzt… zzt… something… interfering with signal… bzzt…"_

Cyrus lurches forward, his eyes set on the innards of the old television. Breathing hurts. His fingers can't even work, can't even grasp the wires properly. The world is shaking. The blizzard is squeezing him from all sides.

Those eyes burn a hole straight through his heart, fire spreading down his neck. Her face, the face of the Champion, of someone on the other side of glass walls, is far too regal for someone like him. Then he's back at Crystal Cave. He's back at the other end of that linoleum table. Back at his old office in Veilstone as her jabbing figure commanded the firing line. 

_Did I really just talk to her this morning? Was she even in the room? Sitting on the bed? Did any of that… even happen…?_

Solid hands clamp on his shoulders. For a moment his mind goes blank, and Cyrus flinches so violently that he almost falls out of the chair. When consciousness returns, there's a woolen blanket over his shoulders. Warm, gentle words grazing his ears, trickling down into his erratic heart…

"That's enough TV time." Jupiter's face fuzzes into view. Those eyes, sharp and strict. "Cyrus? Oh…" A trembling hand reaches out and nips on the edge of her sleeve. Never closer, but still there, desperately hanging on to her presence.

_"Something…zzt… is wrong, bzzt. The airwa—kkzzt. Some—kzzt. Bzzt. Bzzzt?"_

"Rotom, shut the TV off!" Saturn roars.

_"Bzzt! I… I can't—zzt! It's stuck—zzzttt??! Something's forcing—kkzzt. Hija—zzt! Hijack! Kzzzttt. Bzzzzzzztttttt."_

**_BOOM!_ **

The noise of something very, very big and metallic crashing through stained-glass roof. Shards fly with falling debris. Cyrus looks up just in time to witness what every viewer at home is seeing: an armored suit with a destructive laser.

An armored suit with the Galactic "G" shining in plain sight.

_"What is that?!"_

_"It's those Galactic crooks!"_ Lucian snaps, summoning out his Pokemon. _"AH HAH! It's that criminal! He finally made his move!"_

 _"What…?"_ Looker murmurs. _"But how…"_

Byron pulls out a shovel from thin air. _"Time for payback, you sick bastard!"_

As the other side of the screen erupts into chaos, everyone here looks to Cyrus, who's staring at the havoc in complete shock. The robot raises a hand. _EEEEEEEEEE!_ A sound that fails to reach the audio range of humans.

But the Pokemon react. They twist in the air. Steelix swivels around with a Gyro Ball in its Trainer's direction. Drifblim's body blinking in preparation for Explosion. Lucario is throwing itself at everything in sight, destroying what it had last touched.

Cyrus glances around the mansion. Elise stares back. A Grunt's Clefairy chirps nervously. _The Pokemon here remain unaffected… So that means…_ _whatever disrupted the Pokemon must be coming from a remote location near the Battle Frontier._

 _A disruption…_ Cyrus's face darkens. _No. That's… sound. Sound waves. Interference. A frequency that can cause Pokemon to behave erratically, even to the point of attacking its Trainers?_

Cyrus recalls a conversation out of the blue. The circumstances have not been ideal when it occurred. He was… berating? Scolding? No, something much harsher than that… 

_"I see… you calculated the number of frequencies that various Pokemon don't like... And then you used those frequencies to force these Pokemon to obey you! You managed to command all these Pokemon with one little gimmick! Not only have you violated company protocol, but you dared to test my patience yet again? If you won't respect me or my company, then I'll have to personally deal with you—"_

"Charon," Cyrus growls. "Of course… Right when we least expect it."

More robots are spilling into the screen. The scene pans out—jerky, abrupt movements from a hacked computer. A full view of the robot army, the primary focus on that golden "G" that bulges like a parasite on a Feebas. The same "G" that started out as a dream on fabric.

"Charon's back?" Mars hisses. "How dare that bastard use _my_ logo on his _damn_ robots? He doesn't even belong in the family! What the hell does he want?!"

Jupiter crosses her arms. Her face is stern, but her tone is icy. "He's aiming for Cynthia, no doubt… But why a direct attack on the Battle Frontier? See? Even with an entire army, he's still no match for the Gym Leaders and Elite Four." She frowns. "He's losing, but… why isn't he running away, like he always does?"

_"Roxy, Roxy, what happened to the camera?!"_

_"Now, on Sinnoh Now! Folks! It seems that Team Galactic has officially launched their attack! But Champion Cynthia is fighting back! Wow, Oli, look how she's taking care of a legion entirely on her own!"_

Saturn's jaw drops. "Hey… Hey, that's my Spyeye!" He jabs at the screen. "Charon stole my Spyeye! DA--MASTER CYRUS, CHARON STOLE MY SPYEYE!!"

_"Cyrus…zzzt… It… it… hurts… zzt. Bzzt…"_

Cyrus licks his palm and smacks that against the television. He feels the electricity coursing up his wrist, climbing up his veins, running through his heart… At last, Rotom safely emerges from the other side of the conductor.

"Cyrus!" Through fading vision does he see her. Screaming at him again. Scolding him for being stupid. Again. "You're a human, not a damn lightning rod!"

"He's made his move," Cyrus croaks. Words painfully escape as ragged patches from his throat. "Charon wasn't… Charon wasn't after the Champion… His intention wasn't to sabotage the Sinnoh Regional Conference…

"It's me." Cyrus casts a grim look to his horrified audience—his team. "Everyone saw that declaration of war. The world knows that Team Galactic is still alive, and that its leader is seeking revenge."

_I should've accounted for Charon's interference. I sent her there without realizing the risks… I should've known better. But I messed up. Of course. Now I'm trapped. I can't hide for much longer…_

There's also his team… There's also _their_ futures as well…

 ** _THUMP!_** Cyrus tastes floor. Before those hands can come, he sucks in all the breath into his overworked lungs to pull himself up. The world swims at first, but he manages to haul himself back up the wheelchair.

"I need to hurry," he wheezes. "I need… to find a solution…"

_Before I run out of time._

* * *

Sure enough, the Grunts are all looking at her differently. There's a physical and unestablished distance between her and the Commanders. Even the normally friendly Mars is avoiding eye contact.

It feels like she's dirty. There's a stain on her heart that can't be washed away. As if she's crossed the Rubicon, past the point of no return. As if she's a black hole in their solar system.

But before she can finish climbing the stairs, claws shoot up her ankles, digging into her skin. The world tilts—air rushes against her back as time and space crawl to a halt—

Cynthia lands in soft, strong arms. Jupiter.

"You almost killed her!" Jupiter snaps to the glowering Gengar. The Ghost is… much bigger than last time, its mass an accumulation of all the darkness within the Old Chateau. A storm of Gastly circle the towering specter. A faded Haunter attempts to calm the Gengar, but the latter is too consumed by rage to listen to reason.

A Shadow Ball writhes in Gengar's gaping jaws—a form of energy fueled by the most bitter of grudges. Warmth leeches from under Cynthia's skin, rendering her into a shivering mess. The roof trembles. Sawdust pour to the floor.

"Go to Cyrus." The Commanders pull out their Pokemon. Even the Grunts help. Cynthia dives under the Shadow Ball's trajectory just in time to avoid a hole to the skull.

"Beautifly, String Shot!"

"Gastrodon, Bubble Beam!"

"Purugly, Shadow Claw!"

A cold hand grabs her wrist. Cynthia follows that Haunter down the darkened hallways until they reach the unmarked door.

* * *

It's quiet. Peacefully silent, as if she'd stepped down the wharf to the golden sands. The Wingull are singing. The Krabby are running around. The boy looks up once she nears shoreline, and he timidly hides his face behind a storybook. 

Back to reality, and it's the _click click_ of tools amongst the landmine of miscellaneous parts and scraps. One hand dancing on whatever contraption the young man is working on. Crobat, Honchkrow, Weavile, and Gyarados being silent but watchful observers.

_He's making crutches._

That look tells her all she needs to know. The gaping chasms under his eyes, those sunken cheekbones that hug his face like a valley. That stiffness in his shoulders, the protruding trenches under his shirt.

Charon was back, and she knows that he knows that. But he also knows that everyone knows that Team Galactic is officially back, that its leader meant to declare war with the people. That Charon's attack was but a red herring to smoke Cyrus out to the light of scrutiny.

And no matter what Cyrus does, everything is pitted against him.

Cynthia doesn’t need to tell him that the bounty had quadrupled. That Looker's been reassigned. That Lucian's leading the case now, and he's not leaving any stones unturned.

_"Shoot first, ask questions later."_

 _**BAM!**_ The crutches slip from his grasp. Cyrus bends down— ** _THUMP!—_** and he's on his knees. Then he's just staring, unmoving… unresponsive to the world around him, to the notebooks, to the tomes, to the progress that he'd made entirely on his own.

"I can't do it," Cyrus whispers. He's rubbing at his eyes until they bleed. "I-I can't work fast enough. I-I can't t-think of anything. There's so much to do… but time's running out…"

Cynthia kneels next to him. "Cyrus," she states his name firmly. He shields his face with a sleeve. "C-Cyrus." She gently brushes the partition away, and she hears the moment when his heart stops. "Cyrus, nothing will happen to you. I promise—"

"Will it be like your promises from last time?" That, and Cynthia staggers back with her hands over her mouth. Cyrus dangles his head. "If… If you _are_ to continue working with me… then we'd need a miracle. There must be a way to expedite progress… before it's too late." Those last words she had to strain to hear.

"Cyrus…" Wait a minute. Sunlight shines into her heart, and the seed blossoms into a flower of hope. "Cyrus, there's an option."

He waits.

"Just the two of us aren't enough. We need a third person, Cyrus… someone who's also an expert on mythology and Pokemon."

Cyrus finally lifts his head. "I…" Cynthia sees the small, desperate flicker of hope in his dim eyes. "I know we have a contract. I know I promised not to involve a third party, but—"

"Do as you wish." Weavile helps its Trainer back onto the chair. Rotom flutters weakly by his side, blue eyes peering into his sullen face. A sigh. "You don't have to ask me for anything. The only thing that matters now is finding a way of saving your precious world."

Cyrus puts his unfinished crutches to the side. "Pardon me. Stand aside." Cynthia complies. "I'll calm Elise down. Champion Cynthia, you do what it is that you have to do."

He stops before the door. "And don't worry about me. I won't be going anywhere."


	35. The Pokemon Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local 27-year old man is scolded by three 12-year old kids and their grumpy grandpa.

It _did_ strike Professor Rowan as odd, how Cynthia showed up out of the blue to invite him on a morning stroll. _Double_ odd when she insisted on using her Togekiss, despite the bird being a one-passenger carrier. _Triple_ odd when Cynthia took the opposite direction, flying north instead to the frozen town of Floaroma.

Rowan observes the silent meadows. No colors. Not even a breeze. _In all my sixty years, I've never seen anything quite like it._

"You're very brave, Cynthia," the professor says. "Taking a vow like that on public television… But I believe in you. You'll see your promises to the end."

Cynthia turns back. There's an odd smile on her lips, one that he cannot place.

Clouds are whizzing past his moustache. Rowan unwraps a Yum-Bar and begins to eat. Cynthia was insistent, and he missed breakfast.

"So… You wanted to show me something?"

Cynthia coughs. "Ah! Ahem. Well. We're almost there!"

"You don't have a cold, do you?" Rowan offers a sweetened lemon slice, but she shakes her head _._ So he tries again. "So… Is there anything in Eterna Forest you thought I should see?"

Cynthia opens her mouth. Closes it. Scratches the back of her neck.

"The Moss Rock?" Rowan offers.

"Um… not really. Hang on, Professor."

Togekiss descends to a clearing that's impossible to locate from the skies. The bird scowls when Rowan dismounts. Apparently, Yum-Bars leave crumbs, and the Pokemon doesn't seem to be overly fond of sweets. Unfortunately.

Rowan follows Cynthia down a shady path of brush. The foliage is thick during this season. As the professor marvels at the wonders of nature, a Murkrow almost steals his Yum-Bar. Almost.

"How goes it with the search for the Red Sunstone, Cynthia?"

She makes a choking sound. "U-Um. G-Good. I found it."

"Is that so?" Rowan digs for his second snack: brown sugar mochi with red bean paste. He's even generous enough to offer one to that drooling Murkrow. "And do you happen to have it with you right now?"

Cynthia stops. She's giving him that strange look again.

* * *

It's eerily quiet in the forest, so much so that Rowan hears the breath leaving his lungs. _The place where time stands still,_ he muses. _Eterna. Eternity. To think that this forest remained unchanged from the time of our ancestors…_

Cynthia stops at the rusty gates. A garden lies beyond the threshold. He can make out vibrant splotches of red and white, even from here. Past an ivy-choked fountain, past the disturbingly life-like gargoyle statues…

"Cynthia?"

"Y-Yes, Professor Rowan?"

Rowan juts his chin upwards. "Why are we at the Old Chateau? Did something just move on the third floor?"

Cynthia makes a grand revealing motion to the darkened mansion. "Well!" she yelps, as if he wasn't right in front of her. "We're here!"

Rowan has heard stories of what had transpired within this forest manor. All conflicting theories, but all sharing one conclusion: it was by no means a happy tale. A sickly daughter. An everlasting dark dream. Broken clocks, the stench of madness buried within the walls… Blood under the floorboards, grudges that were never properly laid to rest…

_Knock-knock, knockity-knock._

The door creaks open, revealing a large golden eye framed by fiery curls.

"Cynthia!"

"Mars." Cynthia smiles. _Who? Like the planet?_ Rowan leans forward. _Why, she's just a child! Perhaps a tad older than Dia, but still… What's she doing in the middle of the woods?_

"And who's that?" says the one called Mars.

"Um—"

"My name is Rowan." Said man extends a hand. "However, everyone just calls me the Pokemon Professor." Mars stares at his palm. And he waits, because Professor Rowan is a very patient man.

"That smell…" Mars's gaze travels to the crumbs in his moustache. "Ew! You actually _like_ Yum-Bars?"

_Well. That's new._ "Excuse me?" Rowan scowls. "I admit that Yum-Bars lack vital nutrients, but sugar activates the brain! Each serving of choc—I mean, Yum-Bars—contains—"

"Okay, okay, whatever." Mars opens the door. "We have another nut-lover. Yippie." She clears her throat. "Hey, everyone! Look who's here!"

_Everyone?_ Heads with bright hair pop out from the walls, under the stairs, behind the sofa… One such person with a bowl cut leaps from the closet.

Rowan doesn't even blink.

"Tch. Not even a scream," says the man with a rather noticeable posterior. "Why'd you bring gramps, Cynthia? This one also has a resting bi—"

Then all the mirth fades from his ruddy face. "HOLY DAMN!" he screeches, and the rest of his friends jump. "HE'S THAT OLD GEEZER WHO CALLED ME A SORRY SPECIMEN!"

"H-He's the one who made fun of our clothes!" sputters a woman beside the man. "In Jubilife, remember?!"

"AACK HE'S GIVING ME THE DEATH STARE!"

"HE HURT OUR FEELINGS!"

Rowan's brows dip into his nose. "Now, what in tarnation are you lot talking about?"

"AAAH HE'S GONNA EAT ME ALIVE!!!"

"Cynthia, this is an odd place for a circus, hm?"

_"C-Circus?"_ A young man scrambles out from under the table. In his hands are a screwdriver and a toy robot. _Is that his hair? What an odd style, to want to look like a Purugly…_

"Ah, Cynthia. Are these the evacuees from Jubilife? Last time I checked, Pastoria is receiving people—"

"Don't ignore me! I'm the Great—"

"Saturn, the old man likes nuts!"

"HUH?!"

Rowan crosses his arms. "Where are your families, you two?" The two gape at him. "Are your names really Mars and Saturn? Like the planets?" _And Oak teases_ me _for being named after a tree, that hypocrite…_

"Mars, Saturn, what's going on down there?" There's an air of authority in that voice. A head of violet curls peeks from the balcony. "B-2, R-8, why are you screaming?"

"Jupiter!" they cry.

_Jupiter…_ And then it clicks. "Jupiter?"

The woman jumps. As does every other person in the room. "Y-Yes?" she wheezes.

"Hm! So it's Jupiter, hm? I never got a chance to thank you properly for driving away those misguided thugs. Don't you remember? I think it was two decades ago… I had a conference at Hearthome with a Mister Berlitz. The squad car broke down, but you managed to catch up to the thieves on foot!"

Jupiter blinks. A faraway look settles across her eyes, and her lips curl into a faint smile. "Well… _That_ was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

_Tick. Tock._ There's an antique grandfather clock in the foyer. A spell of silence hangs over the furniture like a suffocating curtain.

Then the hairs on Rowan's neck bristle. An uncanny coldness grips his body, the ice permeating into his bloodstream. Something glints in the extremes of his vision—a writing shadow of claws and teeth.

Cynthia screams. Rowan ducks as bodies fly across the air. Red flashes. Pokemon crying.

"Elise, stop."

And for some strange, unexplained reason, a wave of repulsion deposits into Rowan's stomach. Moisture springs to his armpits as the sweet flavor of Yum-Bars sours in his mouth. He feels his blood curling down his throat, hardening…

"Bzzt!"

A ball of light snaps at the glowering Gengar. The latter swipes a claw, only to be stopped by a Haunter. Some nonverbal, harsh argument is exchanged between the Ghosts.

Wooden wheels clatter across floorboards. The air thickens, and Rowan's neck almost cracks under crushing gravity.

_What… Oh no…_

Despite the silvery hue of his hair, those pale blue eyes are just as haunting as Rowan remembers them. Even more so now that he's seeing them in person. Shadows and angles make up that impassive mask of a face. The person in question might as well have been a remnant of the Old Chateau.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Professor Rowan." A course wind in a barren tundra. A tilt of the head, and a pounding in Rowan's skull. "My name is Cyrus."

* * *

"Thank you for taking the time to come. I understand—"

"Be quiet, you good-for-nothing thief!" Rowan snaps. Cynthia makes a strangled noise, and the professor swivels back.

"Cynthia!"

"Y-Yes, Professor?"

Rowan's nostrils flare with pride. "Just what I expect from the Champion of Sinnoh! You brought me here to see you apprehend that criminal, hm? Go for it!"

Cynthia jerks back from his congratulatory grasp. She's shaking her head, but nothing's coming out of her mouth. Rowan hurries to grab the children's arms. They flinch. "Officer!" the old man yells. "I'll take everyone to Eterna! I leave the rest in your capable hands!"

"Professor!"

"Cynthia? What are you doing? Don't block the door!"

"Professor Rowan, LISTEN!"

"Cynthia?" Rowan says very, very slowly. "Why aren't you helping the officer?"

"P-Professor Rowan, l-listen." Cynthia takes a deep breath. "Professor Rowan, Cyrus is helping me with this investigation. He's the only one who knows how to stop this—"

"Er-hem! This is no time for jokes, Cynthia. You didn't need to take him out of--"

"I’M NOT JOKING!"

"Cyrus!" That cry belongs to the officer, much to Rowan's surprise. "Where are you going?"

"My room," is the flat response.

"You!" Rowan snarls. Cyrus turns. "You brainwashed her, didn't you? You brainwashed Cynthia and Officer Jupiter, Mars and Saturn and all these innocent people like you did to your doomsday cult!"

"Professor—"

**_BAM!_**

The door flies open.

"Ow, Dia… I told you not to push! That door's probably thousands of years old!"

"Oh no… My scarf. I'll have to buy a new one…"

"It's just dirt, Platinum! Wash it off with cold wa—"

The children stiffen at Rowan's murderous glare. Then Dia gasps. "Professor, you forgot your purse!"

"It's not a purse!" Pearl hisses. "A-And we weren't following you or anything, Professor! You happened to leave your pu—satchel—and Dia volunteered to bring it, and we happened to see you leaving with Cynthia…"

"Again?" the Champion grunts.

Platinum surveys her clothes with a despondent sigh. The glint of her rings, a diamond and peal brooch, glitters in the eyes of Grunts and Ghosts. "I'll need a bath. We should build some hotels within the forest…"

Pearl gasps, and Platinum's head snaps up. "Platinum!" he whispers. "Get behind me! We need to call the police—Dia? Dia! What the heck are you—"

"Hey, Mister Cyrus!" The young boy waves. "Wanna hear a joke?"

"Diiiiiaaaaa! He's a wanted criminal—"

"Speaking of Pokemon!"

"No, Dia—"

"Pearl, _speaking of Pokemon!!"_

Pearl groans into his hands. _"Fine!_ Speaking of Pokemon!" He clenches his teeth. "They sure have _a lot_ of special abilities, don't they?"

"That's right!" responds his partner-in-comedy.

"How many of them, do you know?"

"Not a one."

"What? You don't remember a single one?"

"Yup. I don't… That's my _DIS-ability!"_

Platinum snickers. Pearl smacks Dia in the back of the head.

Then someone wheezes. The man with the giant posterior, B-2, collapses on the ground in a giggling mess. "Holy Arceus… that's his—pfft--DISABILITY because he can't recall an ABILITY!!"

"Didja hear that, didja hear that?"

"That kid's a genius!"

"They must be professionals!"

Rowan storms up to the Dexholders. "Diamond, Pearl, Platinum!" They wince. "Diamond, your mother is worried sick! Pearl, what will Palmer say if he sees you? And Platinum…."

She squeaks.

"Oh, Platinum, once I tell your father…"

Cynthia flails her hands. "P-Professor, it's okay! It's perfectly safe here! They can play with Ma—"

"You will _not_ be conspiring with a felon!" Rowan snaps. Cynthia cringes. "As Champion, shouldn't you understand the ramifications? Oh, I _knew_ that I shouldn't have let you go back alone!"

"Cyrus isn't the enemy, Professor! He's my fr—"

"Mister Cyrus! Mister Cyrus!"

"ACK, DIA!"

"Cyrus. Cyrus." Jupiter gently taps his shoulder. Said man tears his gaze from the floor. "That little boy is calling you."

"Mister Cyrus!" Dia's enthusiasm is warm and genuine. Cyrus squints as if it's suddenly too bright to see.

"E… Excuse me?"

"Dia—" Rowan starts.

"Do you remember me, Mister Cyrus?"

Cyrus frowns at the space surrounding the boy. "I… I'm sorry. I—"

"It starts with a D!"

A long, uncertain pause. "You… Your name is… Dawn?"

Dia makes a face. "Bzzt! Nope, wrong universe! I'm Diamond, but my friends call me Dia. This is Pearl. And Platinum."

"Nooooooooooooo," moans his best friend.

Platinum gives a weak smile. "Er. H-Hello.... er…"

But Cyrus returns a deep nod. "Miss Berlitz." Her eyes widen. He stiffens. "Erm. My apologies. Have a wonderful day."

"WAIT!" Cynthia screeches. All activity stops. "Cyrus, Professor Rowan's here to help you!

"And Professor Rowan!" The man's moustache twitches as Cynthia jabs a finger to his face. "You have to help Cyrus before time really does stand still!"

* * *

Rowan still has no damn idea how Cynthia managed to convince (coerce) him into following Sinnoh's Public Enemy Number One down a darkened hallway. Alone. The professor's gaze constantly darts around, searching for a bulge in the sleeves, a glint in the walls…

_"Simple morning stroll!" I should've know that Cynthia was up to no good!'_

 _Wait a minute… so was that all an act? That spectacle on television?_ The cheering had been so loud in Sandgem Town that Rowan had to shut his windows. It was a stuffy night. Still, that damn celebration almost contributed to a fire near the beach… _Hopefully all those posters will have been picked up by now…_

 _And didn't Team Galactic attack the Sinnoh Regional Conference?_ Rowan's glare is drilling holes into the other head. _It was all your idea, wasn't it? To declare war on authority? What did you do to Cynthia?!_

"Please have a seat, Professor Rowan."

Rowan's jaw tightens. He chooses to stand as Cyrus maneuvers across the book-laden floor to the Pokemon near the window sill.

"We're still looking for their Trainers."

Cyrus yanks his hand back before it connects with Crobat's head. The bat frowns. Weavile growls, Honchkrow's feathers bristle, and the Gyarados outside the window gnashes its fangs.

The man waves them down. "I'm… I'm sorry, Professor Rowan." He picks up a notebook. "This… this is the most current—"

"I cannot _believe_ that you tricked Cynthia into stealing evidence." The notebook drops to the floor. Rowan is speaking slowly, ensuring harsh emphasis on every word. "Listen, you. I am a very patient man. But can't you see that this charade has gone far enough?"

Rowan drops his voice. "Because you've squirmed your way into the Champion's good graces—and damn me if my Stockholm Syndrome theory is correct—I'll give you some congratulatory advice. I know that I'm outnumbered. I know that you have leverage, and you're not afraid to exploit them.

"But if you even have a _shred_ of conscience left, I encourage you to turn yourself in. Do you understand how many people have suffered due to your rash, selfish actions? Even the Pokemon are in pain! Hasn't that ever crossed your mind?

"And have you not seen the implications of your madness? You are but a coward, hiding to escape responsibility! Extremism is never the solution, and it never will be!

"Think about it. A world without spirit? Without emotions, without love and sadness? How did such _delusions_ get stuck in your head? How would your crazy plan benefit anyone? Don't you ever think of the consequences, you misguided thug?!"

Cyrus had stopped breathing a long, long time ago. He's pressed back into his chair, the smallest that Rowan had ever seen him.

And there's… there's a glaring disconnect between the person in front of him compared to the one whose face has reserved a slot on national television. It's such a jarring realization that it causes Rowan's train of thought to plummet down the cliff.

_Is this even the same person?_

"I'm sorry…" Barely there, that voice. "I-I know I messed up, b-but I'm trying—"

Rowan silences that with a shake of the head. "To think that you're still relying on old tricks to distort my thinking… You really are a two-faced psychopath, aren’t you? You never learn. I am so, so very disappointed in you… but you don't care for this old man's words, do you?"

And with that and a sigh, Rowan departs. He brushes past the gawking Grunts, takes the children's hands (Cynthia included), and leaves the Old Chateau to what it should be.

Forgotten.

* * *

With a violent twist, Cynthia breaks free from his iron grasp. Rowan frowns, but his former student stubbornly stands her ground.

"I am disappointed in you too, Cynthia!" Rowan says, and she deflates. "To think that the Champion of Sinnoh fell prey to the tricks of a no-good criminal! How long has this been happening, Cynthia? Did he get into your head before Foggy Forest? When you visited him in prison? What—"

"Cyrus saved my life!" Cynthia retorts, a hand smacking her bosom. "And he's not that type of person, Professor Rowan! You don't understand him at all!"

"We should go home," Pearl mouths to his friends. They're too busy watching the adults argue to pay him any mind.

"Cyrus is my friend," Cynthia states calmly. Her steely gaze rakes over the trio and her teacher. Rowan's scowl deepens. "It was Charon who gave Team Galactic a bad name. Cyrus is not the villain of the story, Professor. All along, he's been trying his best to protect me. He's currently helping me save the world as we speak.

"I won't let anything bad happen to Cyrus." A cool forest breeze fills the arbitrary distance. "That's my vow as the Champion of Sinnoh. I'm really grateful for what you've taught me, Professor Rowan, but nothing will deter me from protecting my friends… even if I have to break the law."

Cynthia brushes past her glowering teacher. "I lied to the people whom I swore to protect," she says softly. "But if that's how it is, that's how it will be. First and foremost, I'm still Cynthia… just that little girl from Celestic Town who started her journey with a Pokedex and a Pokemon…" 

The woman turns, revealing a glimpse of burning amber eyes. "I don't have time for pointless bickering, Professor Rowan. If you don’t want to help, that's fine with me. We'll just solve this ourselves."

The Dexholders stare after her retreating figure. The forest holds its breath.

"Let's go home, Diamond, Pearl, Platinum," says the Pokemon Professor in a cold, flat tone. "Just this once, I won't tell your parents… but promise me that you three will never recklessly endanger yourselves again!"

* * *

That's what he said. The very next day, Rowan's fumbling through the lightening skies on his oversized Starly. The Pokemon yawns loudly. It's a very contagious yawn. Everything sane is still asleep during this unholy hour.

It was just another routine of checking whether the doors were locked. A quick sweep of the lab, a brief pass through the office, a peek into the door which revealed a vacant space where the satchel should've been hung.

_I only hope that I'm not too late…_ The contents of that satchel contains the whole future of Pokemon research! If that so much falls into the wrong hands…

"If he even _thinks_ about laying his paws on my Yum-Bars…" Rowan grumbles, and Starly gives a groggy yip.

Then he's there. Starly descends down the sea of trees, breaking through a dimly-lit clearing. The forest's natural light illuminates the flower path.

**_THUMP!_**

The sight that flashes across Rowan's mind is grim one. Shoving that possibility aside, Rowan peeks out from behind the ivy-coated walls of the manor.

**_THUMP! THUMP!_** A series of tumbling, a **_crack!_** Rowan's stomach churns uneasily, and it's not from his rushed breakfast of honey cereal.

The wheels of the wheelchair are treading air. From the fallen seat sprawls the legs, a contorted arrangement of baggy fabric. The other man is trembling as he peels himself from the ground. Crobat reaches a timid wing—and he flinches so violently that he falls backwards, grief-stricken face pointed to the early morning skies.

"I'm sorry, Crobat," Cyrus mutters. The bat gently helps him sit up. With the help from the surrounding Drifblim, Cyrus uses the crutches to push himself to his feet.

And Rowan looks away. Again and again, **_thump, thump._** A pause. A harsh curse, another futile effort. **_THUMP! THUMP!_** A lesson that refuses to be learned.

**_KR-ACK!_**

Then silence. A heavy, eternal silence. When Rowan's lungs work again, he peers back around the wall.

Nothing. No signs of human activity, save for the deep depressions in the grass.

* * *

As the scattered morning rays cast over the earth, Professor Rowan creaks open the double doors of the Old Chateau. _Good. They're still sleeping._ He maneuvers across the landmine of bowl cuts, his eyes alert for any sign of—

_My satchel!_ Rowan kicks a limp arm aside. There, on the dining table, is his precious satchel! Rowan grasps the leather bag, his perpetual frown breaking ever so slightly.

He unclasps the straps. _Good. The research is all here. No missing papers… And the Yum-Bars are all accounted for! Oh, and the Pokedex—Good. It still works. All the parts are intact…_

A tingle races down Rowan's neck. He turns to see a pair of bright blue eyes. A burst of light, a crackling of electricity before that thing disappears into the darkness.

Rowan knows this feeling. It's this feeling at Foggy Forest, at the onset of Fogbound Lake. A tingling in his stomach, a quickening of the breath. Tossing all doubts aside, the Pokemon Professor dares to venture up the stairs.

That ball of light is waiting. When the man is within grabbing distance, it fades into the wall. Rowan grabs the nearest doorknob—and pushes.

His chest goes numb at that uncanny glow. Litwick. A handful of Candle Pokemon are leaning over a notebook, lending their life-consuming flame as a light source to the man with a feather pen in his hand.

"Bzzt. Bzzt!" That's not enough to pry the man's attention from his work. The ball of light growls again, sharper this time.

Finally, a reply. "Rotom, I'm busy right now. Can it wait?"

"Bzzt! Zzzt-zzt!"

"I'm sorry? Who in their right minds would come at… this…ti…"

Upon connection of eyes, Cyrus abandons whatever he was doing and throws his hand in the air. "I-I didn't touch anything, I assure you." He's talking to Rowan's oxfords. "I-I only moved it to the table, a-and I tried to minimize contact as much as possible…

"Oh. Yes, yes, you can check the room." Cyrus shoves the wheelchair to the wall. "And… oh, here." The arm sling is forcibly yanked off, and the limb falls to the floor with a sickening **_thump._** There's a sharp intake of breath, a painful silence. And when he speaks again, his voice is a ragged whisper. "I… I can show you the seams…"

"Everything's accounted for," the professor grunts, speaking more to the window than to the human in the room.

"Ah." Even the Litwick's crackling flame is louder than this. "I'm sorry."

A silence. Something rustles above their heads. A blanket drapes over Cyrus's arm without so much as a reaction from him.

Then a shadow emerges from Cyrus's back. _It's… a robot?_ A toy robot in fact, with twinkling blue eyes and a childish grin. A hand raises in greeting. "Bzzt, bzzt! Bzzzzt!" It nudges Cyrus's knee, earning a vacant stare. "Zzzt! Bzzt!" A frown. "Zzzzzt!" The frown softens.

Rowan's eyes narrow. "You… you understand that thing?"

Cyrus flinches. Before he can say anything, a lifeform emerges from the smooth metallic body—a crooked grin on an orange, lighting rod-shaped body.

"Bzzzt!" it cries, nodding in affirmation. Rowan knows that cry. It's a very familiar sound, one that he had extensively researched during his golden days.

"That's a Pokemon!" No sooner had those words left Rowan's lips did adrenaline course down his body. _Why, though it is utterly unique, it is undeniably a form of Pokemon! To think that no matter how old one gets, there will always be new Pokemon to discover! In the Old Chateau of all places! Right next to the most wanted man in all of Sinnoh!_

"Do you have a name?" Rowan asks the laughing lightning rod, to which the latter spins playfully around Cyrus's head. After much waiting, a tiny sound escapes from tight lips.

"Rotom…"

"Rotom?" Rowan echoes. "Rotom… motor! Hm!" The Pokemon makes a pleased sound. "Did you know?" says the professor. "Long ago, there was a Pokemon that merged with a toy robot. Should that Pokemon be recognized as a new species or not… Debates over the issue were about to start when they were rendered moot. The very topic of discussion—the Pokemon-infused Robot—disappeared…"

Cyrus slowly lifts his gaze off the floor. Then he lowers his head. Rotom, though, is simply ecstatic. It buzzes on and on and on. And sure enough, if Rowan listens carefully, a mask of ice cracks from somewhere in the darkness.

But there's something else that isn't making sense. _An undiscovered Pokemon, with no Poke ball to its name… Are wild Pokemon usually this… friendly?_

Then the door flies open.

"Gooood morning, Cyrus!" exclaims a light, melodic voice. "Hey, guess who came to see you?"

"Hello, Mister Cyrus! Pearl and I came up with a good joke—"

"Diiiiiiia!"

"It would have been politer to knock first, Cynthia. What if Cyrus is still—"

Pokemon Professor turns around. Platinum clamps her jaw.

"Master Cyrruuuuuussss! Can I push you around today?"

"Boss, did you fix my robot? Can I see—"

The younger Commanders freeze at the old man's resting frown. Everyone is avoiding eye contact with each other until Dia opens his mouth.

"Mister Cyrus!" he says. "You watch ProTeam Omega too?"

* * *

"Y-You know of ProTeam Omega?" Saturn wheezes.

"Yup! And I have a robot just like yours!" Dia holds up his figurine. "Although… yours looks more… newer. Where did you get all these customizable parts? They don’t sell this at the toy store!"

Saturn closes his jaw. Then he huffs. "Oh please. I'll have you know that the boss built this masterpiece for me especially! You won't find this at any old toy retailer!"

"What's ProTeam Omega?"

That earns her a gasp from the boys. "You don't know who ProTeam Omega is, Mars?" Saturn shakes his head. "What was _your_ childhood like?"

As he spirals off into explanation, Pearl turns to see a tall, older woman staring at him. "You're all here early," Jupiter says. Pearl bobs his head. Dia's too busy interjecting witty comments, and Platinum had run off somewhere with the professor. So that leaves him to deal with this titan.

So Pearl does the only thing he can do in this situation. "Um… Speaking of Pokemon?"

* * *

Speaking of Platinum, the girl is struggling to catch up to an ecstatic Rowan as he races out to the garden.

"Come back, Rotom!" says the professor. "I need you for my research!"

In the lush garden of roses and lilies are two permanent colors. "Cyrus, look," Cynthia says. "These inscriptions… don't they look like compasses to you?"

"You… have a point, Champion Cynthia. On the Sunstone, this particular arrow is bigger than the others."

"It could be pointing east. That's when the sun rises."

"Or it could be pointing west. That's where the sun sets."

Rotom shatters the air of pensiveness by shooting itself across Cyrus's face. He frowns, but it laughs as it electrifies his hair.

Cynthia turns. "Oh! Platinum! And… Professor Rowan…"

"Hey now, why are you so disappointed to see me?" But Rowan doesn't say that. He marches up to Cyrus, up to Rotom. The latter flinches.

"You… you should wear gloves, Professor," Cyrus mutters, gaze downcast. "Rotom… shocks you."

"Hm! So it's an Electric Type, eh?" Rotom responds with a Thunderbolt into the bushes. Then it's gone… and it reappears behind Platinum's shoulder. "It's a Ghost Type too… " Rowan fumbles for his notes. "A Ghost/Electric Type combination… simply remarkable. What Moves is it capable of?"

Cynthia clears her throat. Cyrus looks up. "It… depends. Rotom has the fascinating ability to enter and operate machinery… as you can see." A lawn mower blazes across the grass.

"Bzzt!"

"No."

"Bzzzt?! ZZzzzzZZTTT!"

Platinum looks between the adults. Cynthia looks perfectly nonplussed, as if she's used to it. "Mister Cyrus?" the girl says. Said man stiffens. "You… you understand Rotom's thoughts?"

"That is impossible," Rowan grumbles. _However… Riley and Lucario are able to communicate and understand each other… but to achieve that stage would require a deep, incorporeal bond…_

Rowan lifts his eyes. _What if…_

"Cyrus, you should show them Rotom's forms," Cynthia says.

"Forms?" Rowan perks up. "Rotom has multiple evolutions?"

The Champion repeats her request. "Rotom has the ability to merge with machinery," Cyrus mumbles. "From its five forms, it is able to take on a different move set. There's Heat Rotom, Wash Rotom, Frost Rotom, Fan Rotom… and as you can see, Mow Rotom." He sits up a little straighter. "Although I don’t recommend you give it access to appliances—"

"Bzzt?" A shocked, innocent gasp.

"The last time you possessed the fan, the garden was a complete disaster." Rotom deflates. "And don't get me started on the flooding." Then to the professor: "It seems to play antics more than anything. However, its prowess makes it a reliable ally in battle."

_Battle._ Rowan's bouncing on the balls of his toes. _Oak! 151 Pokemon my arse!_ But he says none of that out loud. Instead, he simply summons his oversized Starly.

Cynthia claps her hands. "Ooh, I've never seen Rotom battle before! Professor, you actually battle...? Show him what you got, Cyrus!"

Cyrus swivels around. "Excuse me? N-No, Rotom—"

"I want to fight!" Platinum steps up to the battlefield. "Empoleon hasn't battled in quite some time. Battle Frontier was a while ago, and she's been waiting for stronger opponents." Even her Poke ball is quivering in anticipation.

"Miss Berlitz, I don't—"

Empoleon appears in a cloud of bubbles and sparkles. The penguin stretches its steel wings, sharpens its impressive crown of horns. _My, she takes good care of her Pokemon._ Mow Rotom swerves to Cyrus's side, electricity crackling down its body.

"Don't go easy on me," the girl says to the frowning man. "We'll work around our Type disadvantage!"

Rowan's pen is rapping against his notebook. Cynthia sees this and scoffs.

Then Platinum raises a pedicured hand. "Empoleon, Swords Dance! Then go in with Drill Peck!" Empoleon launches into the skies. A watery meteor bashes into Mow Rotom, sending the latter slamming into a tree truck.

"What are you doing?" Rowan huffs. "Stop sitting there!"

"Cyrus!" Cynthia cries.

The expression on his face is very, very wrong. When Rowan blinks, Cyrus is already at the crumbled lawn mower's side.

"Bzzt… b…zzt…"

Cyrus's expression darkens as he cradles the sparkling appliance in his arms. "No, I can't. What if you accidently discharge again? I won't—"

"Bzzt!"

Cyrus rummages for a Potion. "Trust you…?" A pause. A grimace. "All right. But I'm stopping the battle if that ever happens."

Platinum smirks when her opponent reappears. "About time, Mister Cyrus! Now, Empoleon! Ice Beam!" The ice warps and bends around an evading Rotom until there's nowhere left to run.

"She's trapping Rotom to inhibit its speed," Cynthia mutters. "My guess is that she'll try to chip away its health with Fury Swipes before delivering the finishing blow."

Meanwhile, Cyrus is observing the situation as if he's watching kites in the skies. "Rotom," he says. "Charge."

_"What?"_

"Empoleon, Brine!"

A geyser of water slams into the prison, sending chunks of ice scattering to the air. Empoleon keeps up its relentless attack, holding the torrent at constant power.

A giggle erupts from behind the blast zone. The water begins to churn, begins to taper into smaller streams as Rotom absorbs it within its charged, electrical orbit. Cyrus tilts its head, and Rotom propels upwards. Droplets rain down the battlefield, a brief but heavy downpour.

Empoleon's horns glisten in the thunderstorm, and the spark reflects in Cyrus's eyes. He slashes a hand through the simmering air. "Rotom! Thunderbolt!"

A beam of light splits the heavens in two. Empoleon manages to evade the attack, but its horns…

**_BOOM!_** Platinum gasps as Empoleon falls to the ground, limbs twitching from the surprise lightning shock.

And Cynthia pumps her fists. "You won, Cyrus!" She runs up to him. "Wow, how did you get lightning to _bend_ like that? Is that a special move?"

"In nature, lightning usually strikes the tallest object." Despite his victory, Cyrus looks extremely disconcerted. Rotom, on the other hand, is having the best time of its life. "And we're on a relatively flat stretch of ground…"

He hurries to the fallen penguin. "Miss Berlitz, my deepest apologies for—"

"That was such a fun match!" Platinum beams. "Empoleon's never faced off against an opponent like that!" The penguin gives a weak thumbs-up before it's returned to its Poke ball. "I can learn a lot from that battle, Cy—er. Mister Cyrus. Thank you very much!"

Cyrus looks so lost right now. Even more so when Dia and Pearl join the group, each attesting testimony to what they have seen from the window. "Platinum's the wisest of our group," Pearl says with a crooked smile. "But your strategy was also clever, Mister Cyrus! It's like watching a chess match between Daddy—I mean, my _father--_ and Thornton!"

Cyrus is still frowning. When he realizes that Rowan is staring at him expectantly, the former adverts his gaze. "Are these observations sufficient for your research?" Cyrus mumbles. "Professor Rowan?"

Rowan blinks. _Ah._ There's nothing on his notebook. He was too absorbed in the moment to have actually done any critical reflection.

"BZZZT! BZZT-ZZT!" Rotom is a pulsating star in the overcast skies. Rowan feels the hairs of his neck bristling just by being near the supercharged Pokemon.

"Rotom's happy that it won!" Dia exclaims.

"No." Cyrus's face is stormy. "It's been a long while since Rotom had faced a powerful opponent. Now it thinks that it can take on anything…"

"BzzzzzZZZZTTTT!" Rotom is like a sprinkler, if sprinklers can shoot out lightning bolts. Pearl pulls Platinum back, barely saving her from electrocution. Cynthia covers Dia's head.

"Go back to the mansion," Cyrus snaps. "Go, now!"

"But—"

**_BOOM!_** Flashes of color streak across the bruising skies. A strong wind is picking up. "I'll be fine, Champion Cynthia," Cyrus says over the incoming thunder. "Take everyone to cover, now!"

As they run back under the porch, Rowan stops. _How can such a small Pokemon possess such frightening prowess? It can inhabit machinery_ and _cause thunderstorms? If given a refrigerator, say, what will Rotom do? What about a microwave…?_

_"Professor Rowan, MOVE!!"_

"Don't raise your voice at me, young man!" Rowan snaps. "Where are your manners—"

The wheelchair topples with the momentum, and Rowan flies back to safety. Cynthia reaches a hand, but she's a nanosecond too late. All she can do is watch as Cyrus's body explodes into light.

* * *

"How the _hell_ is this his forth electrocution?!"

Rowan's eyes narrow. "His forth _what?"_ Pearl wheezes, and he's quickly shut down with a glare.

"How the hell did he break his arm again?" Jupiter continues, gesturing angrily to nothing in particular.

"Maybe he… fell on it?" Mars yelps. "Accidents happen…"

"Yeah, and I'm still a cop. He has a fucking _bone_ sticking out of his skin! I don't remember that happening when I checked up on him just yesterday! What part of 'self care' don't you understand, Cyrus?!"

The man in question responds with silence. Jupiter growls into her hands.

"There's no fever?" Saturn whimpers.

B-2 sticks his head into the room. "Three days?"

"Six days," says R-8.

"A week at least," someone calls from the lobby.

Jupiter tests his pulse. "If I ever find that Rotom…" Rowan moves for her to storm through. Mars and Saturn stare after her retreating figure. A Gengar sprints into the room, sees Cyrus, and throws daggers into Cynthia's direction.

"Woah woah." Mars hugs the struggling Ghost. "It's not her fault, Elise. Master Cyrus just got hit by a stray lightning bolt. That's all."

Rowan is aware of the eyes on his head. "Elise?" he echoes.

"That's her name. Well… that _was_ her name, when she was still alive. It's a pretty long story—" Saturn gives her a look, and she goes quiet.

Cynthia clears her throat. "L-Let's go home for the day, Dia. Pearl. Platinum." The Dexholders stare at her. "And Professor Rowan, you should… you should go back."

It's nearly evening. Rowan's stomach gurgles. _Has it really been a whole day?_

"Mister Cyrus will get better," Dia says. "I'll bring some of my mom's special soup tomorrow. That always makes me feel better after a bad day."

Saturn gives a weak smirk. "He's not sick, you know…"

"Sebastian might have something for burns," Platinum offers. "His family comes from a long line of medics."

Pearl scratches his head. "Well… Daddy—my father's not good with this stuff, but I'll think of something. Don't you worry, uh… Mars and Saturn."

"Pearl," Mars says with a watery grin. "I like your name. And Dia, you're very funny. Is that why you wear those rings, missy?"

Platinum's eyes widen. "Wha—oh. Hehe." She shows her hands. "A perfect pearl and a flawless diamond… I suppose it's just a coincidence, Mars."

"You had rings?" Pearl mutters.

Cynthia's expression is soft. "All right, everyone. Let's get you home. We can stop by tomorrow morning… if that's okay with you, Professor Rowan."

_Excuse me?_ Cynthia continues. "I don't think that there's any danger here at all. _But!"_ Emphasized with an exaggerated huff. "You're the _sane_ one around here! I'm just a hot-headed girl who rushes into things without thinking!"

The Commanders exchange glances with the Dexholders, and a silent conversation is played. Rowan scratches his moustache, and for once, is at a loss for words.

"Well," he finally says. "If they're safe, I suppose. You three have Pokemon with you, after all."

Cynthia raises an eyebrow, but she adds no more to that. Rowan casts one last glance over his shoulder before he closes the door.

* * *

A deep sigh resounds down the grove of trees. As Eterna Forest sleeps, a Drifblim glides down the rustling foliage, its streamers sweeping aside the leaves on the ground.

Someone is in front of the Old Chateau. The Pokemon approaches cautiously. A human. But it's not _him—_ it's a big man with a perpetual frown and the crumbs sticking to his moustache.

"Boolooloo?"

The Pokemon Professor raises a figure to his lips. Drifblim cocks its head. Rowan checks his surroundings once more before proceeding.

**_Creeeeak._** There's no sign of that Rotom. No crackling presence within the darkness. Across the maze of bodies he goes, up the creaking stairs, down into a yawning abyss…

**_Creeeeeeaak._**

The Litwick are gathered around like a funeral. Their flames, bright and ominous, cast writhing shadows across the walls. The Pokemon remain on the bed—that is, until Rowan opens the curtains.

_Why I am here again?_

As Rowan argues with himself, darkness ripples in the extremes of his vision. Dust scatters, springs groan, the spell of silence shattering with a faint gasp from the other side.

"Oh! Welcome home!"

Rowan swivels around. Cyrus is upright. He's staring straight into the professor's eyes, but there's also this distinct feeling that he's seeing something else entirely.

"What?"

The smile fades from Cyrus's lips. His gaze lingers on Rowan's face for a brief second longer before he drops his head.

"Cyrus." Rowan turns to see that stern-faced older woman. She notices the professor's staring, but her attention is wholly focused on the man on the bed. "Cyrus, why are you awake?"

Cyrus gives her a blank look. Jupiter snaps her fingers, and a Tangrowth ambles to the bedside. It raises a large palm, and with a poke on the forehead, Cyrus collapses like a sack of flour.

"Was he talking in his sleep again?" Jupiter is looking at Rowan. His lack of response is her answer. "Hm. Well, it's no concern of yours, Professor."

She lays a gentle hand on Cyrus's forehead. "No fever… that's a relief." She checks that the arm sling is secured before tucking the blanket over his heaving chest.

"Did you forget your purse again?" _Satchel._ But Rowan doesn't say that. Jupiter crosses her legs. "Or are you looking for Rotom? I haven't seen that little shit since yesterday." Her face has the _"What are you still doing here?"_ look scrawled all over it. Rowan backs away, and his shoulder bumps into a shelf.

**_Thump._** The book that fell is a children's book. A picture book of the Sinnoh mythos: the three mirage Pokemon. The Protector of Snowpoint Temple. The Pokemon that brings blissful dreams and the Pokemon that brings everlasting nightmares.

"That's his research," Jupiter says dryly. She gestures at the handcrafted shelves, all teeming with books. "He's been too absorbed in his work to even eat or sleep. They're making progress, but still…"

Rowan picks up a notebook. The same on that was offered to him not long ago. "What changed?" he mutters.

Jupiter makes a soft noise in her throat. "Glad to see that someone still recognizes the old me." There's a bitterness in her tone. Wistfulness? "But even if I rewind time, things will never go back to how they were."

The woman's lips tug. "I've made my decision a long time ago, Rowan. There's no turning back for me, and that's okay. There's someone that needs me, there's people I want to protect." Her voice drops. "I loved Jenny. I really did. I loved Hearthome and all its good and bad… but I wasn't happy. I was trapped… lost… until I finally saw the sun."

There's a crack in her stern mask as she gazes at his sleeping face… the same face that's plastered onto every officer's dashboard. Sunlight trickles overhead, breathing life into the inky darkness of the Old Chateau.

"He's just like his name," Jupiter murmurs. The morning sun is climbing up the clouds. "Cyrus made mistakes, I won't deny that… but what's more important is that he's trying his best to fix them. I just… He's pushing himself too hard. After all the shit that he's been through, I'm a monster if I let him shoulder all those burdens alone."

The former detective lifts her chin. Her signature pose as the Black-and-White Bruiser. "So if you even _think_ about calling the cops, you'll have me, Commander Jupiter, to deal with. Are we clear, Professor Rowan?"

* * *

It's early afternoon when Jupiter opens the door for Cynthia and the kids. Saturn already has his ProTeam Omega figurines ready for discussion. B-2 and R-8 seem to have taken an interest in Pearl and his funny mannerisms—especially those involving his role as the straight man in the duo's comedy routine. Platinum had offered to help Cyrus and his research, much to Cynthia's delight. 

"The Old Chateau's gotten quiet lively," Jupiter hums as she leads the newcomers down the kitchen. She's ignoring a pouting Gastly, but no one voices that observation. "How about the four of you join him for lunch?"

Cynthia gasps. "Oh, is Cyrus awake already? It's only been—" Some Grunts brush past her with their face in their palms.

"They're crying," confirms the Dexholders. Jupiter snorts.

Dia inhales the Gastly-filled air. "Ah… I love eggs! Miss Jupiter, do you mind if I borrowed your kitchen? Great, thank you! Mars, I'll help you cook! Oh, good afternoon, Pro—"

Cynthia spits out her juice. The Pokemon Professor looks up from his brunch as if it's just another day in the lab.

"Oh, Cynthia," Rowan grunts. "You have a bit of juice on your face."

Cynthia's eyelids are fluttering. Pearl turns to his friends, mouthing incoherence while gesturing to the frowning old man. Platinum's covering her mouth, but her eyes are shining.

"He's been here since morning," Saturn hisses to a dumbstruck Pearl. "He's scaring the Grunts. Keeps on making fun of them."

Mars bounces into the room. "Professor Rowan! More juice?"

"Hm! Thank you, Mars. Can you put more Pecha Berries this time? You're almost there to achieving the perfect note of sweetness."

Everyone looks to Jupiter. They turn to B-2, who shrugs. "I haven't the foggiest," he says.

* * *

Dia emerges from the kitchen with a tray of aromatic rice balls. With a little help from Mars and Saturn, everyone in the Old Chateau, even the Ghosts, is able to enjoy a hearty meal for the first time in ages.

"Are you sure these aren't jelly-filled doughnuts, kid?" B-2 chuckles. "Just kidding." Then his brows furrow. "Say… Wasn't there another boy with a red scarf just like yours? Dressed just like you too, but…"

Dia blinks. "Um. Platinum's wearing a red scarf too?"

"Platinum? No, I could've _sworn_ that your name was Mi… Nah. " He slaps his face. "Get it together, B-2. What the hell are you saying?"

Cynthia is watching Rowan as he flips through Cyrus's notes. "S-So," she huffs. "Professor Rowan, you're okay with it?"

Rowan gives her a look. "What madness are you sprouting, Cynthia?" Her disappointment is bone-crushing. He clears his throat. "I've never seen a more comprehensive analysis of the Time Gears, that's all. This is a major leap for the field of archaeology—"

"EEEEAAAAKKKK!"

The Grunts intercept the Shadow Ball from exploding in Cynthia's face. No amount of consoling from Mars can calm the enraged Gengar down.

"Wait!" Pearl cries. "Gengar's trying to tell us something!"

Saturn frowns. "Oh great, someone else who can talk to Ghosts…"

"Pearl can sense what Pokemon are planning to use by observing their movements," Dia explains calmly. "So in a sense, yes?"

"Follow Gengar!" Pearl declares. Up the stairs they go. Jupiter kicks open the door.

And the bed is empty. The curtains are billowing in the open breeze. Rowan and Cynthia cover the children's ears.

"We'll check the mansion!" R-8 cries and disappears down the hall with her colleagues.

"We'll split up." Saturn tugs Mars's hand. "You take the west. I take the east. Ju—"

Jupiter uses the curtain rod as a beam to propel herself out the window. As if she's doing gymnastics. She lands soundlessly and takes off before brains can comprehend what just happened. 

Cynthia turns back to the group. "Um. I'll help Jupiter. S-So…Professor Rowan, look after the kids!"

Professor Rowan peers outside to the cloudy blue skies. Quite humid today. A stray leaf blows into the room, inviting the stale tang of a recent rainstorm.

Gengar is thrashing its claws. Pearl listens. "Cyrus is outside!" he gasps. "And… There's… What is that, Gengar? A balloon? Um. An upwelling…"

"We saw a Drifblim passing overhead when we arrived," Platinum mutters. Gengar bobs its head, and her expression darkens. "Dia, Pearl, let's go!"

"Wait." The children freeze. Rowan flicks the crumbs off his moustache. "Let me get my coat."

* * *

Gengar couldn't leave the house, but Pearl seems to understand its panic. He promises that they'll bring Cyrus back, and much to Rowan's surprise, the Ghost responds with a faint smile.

"I think Drifblim was going that way!" Dia points to the lightening skies. The group breaks into a run with the boys leading the way. Shoes dip into puddles, socks are soaked…

"Eterna City?" Rowan grunts when they leave the forest entrance. Indeed, the air is radically different. The smell of uncivilized greenery recedes into smoke and herbs. Rusty brick buildings. Mountain faces. Armed guards milling around the near-empty streets.

"Over here!" Pearl hisses. They dive into the bushes, and a patrolling officer casually passes by. Rowan follows the kids down a pebble path to the exterior of the city.

_Ah! There's the head of the Drifblim!_ Platinum skids to a halt while Dia and Pearl scale the twisted wire fencing. "This is the landfill!" she huffs. "I've brought this outfit only yesterday, and it'll shrink if I wash it!"

"Platinum, you have ten thousand copies of the same outfit!" Pearl retorts. "Fine! Professor Rowan, you stay with her—"

The boys gape when they see that the professor is standing right beside them. On the other side of the fence. "What happened, Pearl?" grunts the old man.

Platinum bites her lips. She swallows hard. After much careful consideration, the heiress to the Berlitz household climbs over the fence to the landfill. The **No Trespassing** falls to the ground. 

Rowan loses track of how many posters they had stepped on. The smell, combined with the aftermath of rain, is overwhelming. _Still, it's amazing what people will throw away._ "Dia, don't step on the puddle, you'll get shocked!" _Oh, isn't that a Heal Block, like those types in the Pokemon Center? Why would—_

"Rotom!"

That voice comes from the descending Drifblim. Legs dangling in the open air, a head swiveling around to the point of snapping off the neck.

"Don't chastise yourself, Rotom! The fault is mine! No harm done!"

"Mister Cyrus!" Dia's waving wildly to no avail.

Drifblim finally comes to a stop next to a pile of defunct appliance. Cyrus is on his knees, sifting through the rubbish like a madman. He's still calling that name on and on like a broken recorder, even when his voice turned hoarse.

"Bzzt…"

Cyrus gasps. He yanks the toaster free from a swamp of exposed wires. With trembling hands, he holds the appliance to the light. And when a pair of eyes peek back, his expression crumbles to relief.

"Rotom!"

"Bzzt!"

Cyrus holds the toaster tightly to his chest. The appliance wraps its cord around his torso, returning the embrace. "Rotom, where did you go? Why did you leave again—no, no it's not your fault. I should've known better. I’m sorry. No, d-don't cry. S-Stop. I-I don't know what to d-d-do when you cry—"

"Who's there?"

Cyrus stops breathing. Heavy boots crunch against broken glass. A trigger cocks. Drifblim wraps its streamers around him.

"INTERPOL! You, behind the refrigerator! Identity yourself!'

Rotom emerges from the toaster. It begins to move, but Cyrus holds up a hand. The footsteps grow louder. The Pokemon become more agitated…

That is, until Cyrus turns. He gives the Pokemon one long, pained look… and he shoves them away. 

"I sur—"

Dia tackles Cyrus down. Pearl and Platinum race to block the protruding limbs from the agent's scrutinizing gaze.

"What are you kids doing here?" he says, eyes wide. "It says 'No Trespassing' on—oh, aren't you Platinum Berlitz? What are you doing down here in the dumps?"

"We thought we saw a Stunky." Dia flashes a radiant smile as he holds down the squirming mass.

"Must be an angry Stunky."

"Oh, you wouldn't _believe,_ sir!" exclaims Dia's friend. "It's a rare Pokemon to find in the wild, see." He moves to the right. Then the left. The officer's eyes narrow. "We're so _close_ to catching one when it ran off into the landfill, and knowing my friend, he just _has_ to catch his beloved Stunky, yes!"

"It was my idea," Platinum states firmly. Her nose wrinkles, but she fixes that with a rehearsed smile. "Did you know that in one Region, there is a Pokemon whose entire body is composed of trash? The combination of garbage bags and industrial waste caused the chemical reaction that created this Pokemon!"

"Fear not," says the professor. "After they catch their Stunky, I'm taking them home right away."

That seems to alleviate the officer's concerns. He quickly puts away his rifle. "Well, if you say so, Professor Rowan. But do exercise caution. There's only one of me assigned here, so you never know what crazies might jump out… if you know what I mean." He whispers something into the radio, and with a cheerful wave, the Interpol agent leaves.

After Dia ascertains that the coast is clear, he finally allows Cyrus to breathe. "Mister Cy—"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?!" Cyrus pushes himself up. His glare is cold enough to freeze hell itself. Dia flinches as if Cyrus had slapped him with a chain. "Why did you get in my way? What did you hope to accomplish with such… such rash stupidity?!"

Pearl glances around. "Um. M-Mister Cyrus, you shouldn't—"

Cyrus slices his good hand across the air, and Pearl staggers back. "What don't you understand? This wretched story will finally end…" He drops his head, and he slams his fist on a broken dish. "I was so _close_ to fixing my mistakes. No one can stop me… It'll finally be over…"

His voice is breaking. "T-That officer has a family waiting for him at home. He can't be with them because he's wasting his time on this **_deranged lunatic…_**

"Miss Berlitz." She stiffens. "Why are you in the rubbish heap in the first place? What of your reputation? What will your father say if you've been charged with trespassing? A-And you two. What about your families? What will they say when you've been charged with being accomplices to crime? This is not a game!" 

His words echo through the landfill. Pearl and Platinum stare down at the damp ground. Rowan crosses his arms. Dia has been listening with narrowed eyes. He taps a finger against his chin, his gaze fixed on those quivering shoulders.

"Um… I can't really follow everything you're saying, but… YOU'VE GOT IT ALL WRONG!"

That slap across the back of the neck comes too fast and sudden for Cyrus to react. The man's head snaps up, his eyeballs bulging out in disbelief. Pearl's jaw drops, and Platinum covers her mouth.

_Oh my._

Cyrus blinks. And blinks again like a malfunctioning robot. "Why… Why did you hit me?" he croaks.

"Because you need straightening out, Mister Cyrus!" Dia states with all the seriousness of an adult's. " _You_ don't seem to understand what you're saying. If you give yourself up to the police, then what about Mars? What will she do if you never came back home?"

Cyrus is staring at nothing. "Bzzt." Rotom had wet the front of his shirt with its tears. A violet streamer taps his cheek.

"Saturn also talks a lot about you." Pearl laces his hands behind his head. "He tells me that our jokes are lame, but I discovered that he was practicing our routine with Mars. I think… I think they want to perform for you, Mister Cyrus. That's the feeling that I'm getting."

"And Miss Jupiter was devastated when you disappeared," Platinum adds softly. "She was very worried, Mister Cyrus. It's quite a fall from the second story, and she thought that you…"

Cyrus's head is bowed, but one can tell that he's trembling from head to toe. Even the appliances are shaking. Rotom points to Drifblim, says something, and Cyrus goes completely still.

"That was stupid what you did, recklessly endangering yourself like that." Cyrus flinches at the professor's voice. But right now… right now, there's something missing from Professor Rowan's resting frown. "Will you throw away Cynthia's trust like that? After everything she has done for you, will you abandon her when you're so far? You _want_ to make amends, yes?"

Cyrus has been so still that he could have passed off as a discarded appliance. Rotom whirls around his head, muttering comforting nothings into his ear.

A small hand rests on his shoulders. Dia smiles, and Cyrus simply stares back like a hollow corpse. "Come on, Mister Cyrus," says the boy. "Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently in the manga he eats these things called Yum-Bars.


	36. Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Massive developments are made. Don't judge a book by its cover.

"It's been ten minutes," Pearl whispers. "Someone should go check on him."

All heads turn to the brave young boy near the door. Dia holds his breath.

"—you so stupid?! Just because you have a PhD doesn't mean you're _smart!_ I take my eyes off you for one second and you're swimming around in filth your hand was bleeding what the hell—"

Mars walks in with a tray of fragrant pink smoothies. "Pecha slush!" She hands them out to the thirsty audience. Rowan tastes it, and he gives a thumbs-up.

"Mars," Saturn hisses. "What's going on down there?"

"Boss is getting chewed off by the adults," is the bright reply. "Listen."

"—And _I'M_ the hotheaded one? And _I_ act on every spontaneous hunch that crosses _my_ mind?!"

"Um. Look, Cyrus. I know that I'm just a Grunt, but that doesn't mean that I'll turn the other cheek, okay? Don't be an ass."

"KAKARAKAH!"

"Bzzt…"

Mars claps. "Crobat's throwing a fit." Then she gasps. "Come on, Gramps! Help the boss with his research!"

"G-Gramps?" _Excuse me?_ "I'm sixty years old, but by no means am I anyone's grandfather!" Rowan picks up a random notebook anyway.

"Hey Dia," Mars says. "Make me laugh."

Dia plays his routine in his head. "Okay! Speaking of Pokemon!"

Pearl sighs. "Speaking of Pokemon… Every Pokemon has a different nature."

"Yup, a Pokemon can be relaxed, serious, jolly, bashful, etc… Natures are important because they can affect a Pokemon's strength."

Pearl pumps a fist. "A naughty nature means attack power will increase faster."

Dia mimics a shield. "A bold nature means defense will increase quickly. And an 'instant' nature makes faster noodles."

Pearl performs an epic facepalm. "Back to food again!? No, seriously, where did you get those noo—"

"AHAHAHAHAHHAA!" Mars bashes her head on the floor. "NOODLES! AHAHAHA! HE EVEN COOKED NOODLES!"

"M-Mars." Instead of laughing, Saturn is gaping at her with wide eyes. "You… are you okay?"

The door opens. Jupiter wheels a soulless Cyrus into the room. Mars rises to her feet. "BOSS!" she snaps. "You stupid, stupid idiot! Why are you so stupid?!"

Saturn stands. "M-Mars, don't…" She gives him a pointed look, and his hesitation breaks into a scowl. "No, Mars is right. Da--Master Cyrus, how can you even _think_ of sacrificing yourself like that?! If… if they weren't there, I would've… there wouldn't be…"

"If Gramps wasn't there!" Mars screeches. "If Dia and Pearl and Platinum weren't there, you--! Someone needs to slap some sense into you!"

And she acts on her vow. Mars brings her palm back—and launches it down Cyrus's back. **_THUMP!_** Saturn can't bring himself to raise his hand, so Mars gladly goes in for seconds.

Weavile shoves a distressed Rotom into the room. R-8 claps her hands. "Okay!" she says with forced cheerfulness. "I think that's enough scolding for now. Professor, why don't you help Cyrus with his research? We… We'll be downstairs, tootles!"

The Grunt herds the scowling Galactic Commanders out the hallway. Then it's just the kids, the professor, and the former leader of Team Galactic.

Darkness ripples. A Gengar's claw shoots out and slices Rotom across its arguable cheeks. Pearl isn't needed to translate the harsh berating that follows.

"Er… we can come back at a better time, Mister Cyrus," Platinum whispers.

Cyrus slowly lifts his head. _Oh. She's right. The best thing right now would be a restful eight hours' sleep._

The Pokemon hop into Cyrus's laps. He hesitates, but Crobat takes initiative to cling to his chest. Honchkrow nips at the fresh bandages on his hand. Weavile pushes the wheelchair over to the bed, where an irritated Gyarados awaits.

"Good night, Mister Cyrus," Dia says softly. It's still bright outside, however. A golden sky of pink and violet hues. Red light trickles into the window, its ephemeral fingers sifting through snowy fields.

Cyrus keeps his gaze downcast. The Dexholders bid farewell to the Pokemon.

And just before Professor Rowan leaves, he hears it. The faintest of sound, almost drowned out by the melody of approaching nightfall.

"Good night… Diamond."

* * *

Professor Rowan and the three kids show up when the sun is high in the sky. The old man makes his way to the kitchen table and dumps out the sugary contents of his satchel.

"Halloween candy," Rowan grunts. There's a brief peace before all hell breaks loose. Grown-ass adults are fighting over each other and the mansion's Pokemon for empty calories.

Mars looks up from her diary to see Rowan's outstretched hand. "Matcha mocha," says the professor. "Not made in a facility that produces nuts—" Upon hearing that piece of vital information, Mars swipes the package and tears it open. She stuffs the whole thing into her mouth, squealing as the green tea filling gushes into her tongue.

"Mmmphmm!" Mars says, and Rowan understands. He then moves on to the other side of the room, to the makeshift workstation of that young man with piercing eyes.

"No, thank you," Saturn mumbles. He's disassembling the toy robot from earlier. Rowan waits. Another mumbles of "Thank you" and a timid acceptance of the lavender macaron.

* * *

"Ooh, I remember these," says Jupiter as she pops a madeleine into her mouth. "They're still in the business?"

"A hundred years and counting," Rowan replies. "The only change is that they've adjusted the buttermilk to sugar ratio."

Jupiter casts a glance over the eager Dexholders. "He's up there," she tells them. "No need to knock."

Platinum nods. "Thank you, Miss Jupiter."

"Sure, sure." The older woman's lips tug. "He could use the company."

The group runs into Cynthia in the hallway. "I have some League stuff to do," she says with a sigh. "I don't know when I'll be back."

"We'll take care of him!" Dia chirps.

Cynthia laughs. "I know." She pats his fuzzy little head. "Thank you." Her eyes meet Rowan's, and with a final wave, the Champion of Sinnoh departs.

Pearl opens the door. A crisp forest breeze glides over books, flipping their pages with unseen hands. Litwick are maneuvering across the floor like little librarians.

"Bzzt, bzzt!" Rotom greets the Dexholders. It approaches Rowan with caution. He frowns at it, and it blows a raspberry.

The Master Librarian looks up. And immediately drops his head. "Excuse me."

Dia stops him. "Where are you going, Mister Cyrus?" And Cyrus gives the boy a strange look, as if he'd misheard.

"We want to help you with your research," Platinum says. She waits for the gears to click in that complicated brain of his.

"I'm sorry, 'we?'" And to that, Platinum gestures to the scowling old man. Cyrus gapes at the young billionaire as if she'd just tossed money at him. "Why?"

"Because we're running out of time," Pearl says. "Daddy told me that Battle Frontier had to shut down because the winds stopped blowing to the area. They rely on windpower to power the buildings."

Cyrus's face is grim. "All right, Pearl. In that case, we have to hurry." He snaps his fingers, and a black feather appears just like that.

Dia and Pearl watch as Platinum, Rowan, and Cyrus transition to automatic-scholar mode. The boys take a picture book and move to the bed. "OW!" Pearl had landed on a protruding spring.

_Fascinating._ Rowan flips through the pages. _Did he… really write all this? The thrill of glimpsing what the police cannot fathom, hm!_ He steals a glance over Platinum's head.

"Do you wear glasses?"

Platinum blinks. "No, I… _Oooh."_ She taps the armrest. "Mister Cyrus, Professor Rowan's asking if you wear glasses."

Cyrus immediately stops rubbing his eyes. "No." Curt and flat. He returns to squinting at the pages even though they're quite literally stuck to his face. The Crobat on the window hisses, and he promptly ignores it.

* * *

After a few minutes of silence, Rowan opens his satchel. Weavile lurches forward at the aroma of almond-filled croissants.

"Weavile," Cyrus snaps. The cat deflates.

"It's okay, Mister Cyrus," Dia says, his legs dangling off the bed. "They're perfectly safe for Pokemon to eat."

"These are leftovers," Rowan explains. **_Will_** _be leftovers._ Cyrus frowns, but he turns back to his writing. Weavile grabs some croissants and tosses it into Gyarados's open jaws. Honchkrow and Crobat are more cautious, but after a little coaxing from the cat, they surrender to their curiosity.

"How does Rotom eat?" Pearl mutters. The Plasma Pokemon giggles showcases its toasting skills. "Like, where does it even go? Does it even have a stomach?"

"Not quite." Heads shift to the man who'd just spoken. Said man brings the book up to his face. "That's a similar question of how a Probopass's digestive system works."

"Probopass…?" Pearl checks his Pokedex. Cyrus's gaze flickers just ever so slightly to the machine. "Ew. It looks like a giant nose! Are those… rock boogers?"

"Mini-noses," Cyrus mumbles. "Probopass… is a compass, not… it's not a nose."

Pearl nudges a grinning Dia. Platinum speaks. "Mister Cyrus, may I pet your Pokemon?"

He seems a bit shocked at that statement. The Pokemon, however, stare at him with shining eyes. "Erm… they're not… I mean…" Crobat tugs his sleeve. A sigh. "Do as you wish."

Dia, Pearl, and Platinum then proceed to shower the Pokemon with love. Weavile pretends to claw Pearl, laughing when the boy ducks for his life. The cat gasps, Pearl turns, and it cackles as if that was the funniest thing ever.

"I don't have any Flying-Types," Dia says. Honchkrow cocks its head. "I have Lax, Tru, Don, Kit, and Moo…" He turns. "Mister Cyrus, do you name your Pokemon?"

Cyrus purses his lips. "No…?"

"Pearl names his Pokemon too."

"Of course I do," the boy huffs. "That's what makes them unique! There's Chatler, Chimler, Rayler, Zeller, Tauler, and Digler!"

"You have a preference for derivational suffixes," says Platinum. She's standing on the bed to get a closer look at the towering Gyarados.

Rowan looks down at the chuckling bat. _Wait. What's…_ "What happened to Crobat?" His tone comes out much harsher than intended. Something flashes across Cyrus's eyes—a shadow over the sun.

"I'm sorry. It was my fa—" Rotom bashes his cheek with a discarded battery. Rowan extends a tentative hand towards the bat… and it doesn't bite him, surprisingly enough.

The skin is raised around a thin white line. Stitches that have been removed, a scar that remains. "It must've been quite a harrowing injury," Rowan whispers to the Pokemon, as if expecting a reply.

But then Crobat points to Cyrus. Very clearly pointed to the man in the corner. It gestures to its scar while pantomiming a series of rather violent events.

"Holy Arceus," Pearl gasps. Crobat's saying—"

"That's enough," Cyrus snaps. "Focus on the task at hand."

"But Mister Cyrus—"

_"Pearl, I said that's enough."_

Pearl cowers under that cold finality. But when the sunlight ripples, Rowan sees it. A scar meandering down his scalp like a fault line. A wound that's eerily similar to Crobat's… the only difference is that it was the _Pokemon_ who made a complete recovery.

The croissant slips from the professor's grip. Weavile rushes to cadaver its remains. It was the sole sweet left in the bag… the one Rowan had specifically set aside. 

* * *

Rowan comes prepared today, with his satchel full of documents. He empties out his candy reserves before proceeding to that makeshift office on the second floor.

And lo and behold there's a sight he doesn't see every day. The Hero of Sinnoh standing next to the Villain that she apprehended.

_Wait a minute. Isn't that…_ Rowan gasps. "Those are the stones!"

"Yup." Cynthia holds the White Moonstone up to the sunlight. Beams refract, casting rainbows within this small and dusty room. She looks at Cyrus, who gingerly holds up the Red Sunstone.

A wondrous, magical light emits from that connection. Rowan's heart is racing, and it's not from the sugar. He fumbles for his manila folder, holding it up like an excited toddler.

Cyrus squints. Cynthia holds the papers close to his face. And his eyes widen. "This… this is…!" He almost topples over. "Professor Rowan, may I hold this?"

"S-Sure…"

"Thank you very much!" Cyrus grasps the reports like a priceless artifact. "Where was this taken, Professor?"

"Mt. Coronet… Next to the ruins. Before the weird weather patterns came in."

Cyrus leaps out of the chair. Cynthia reacts too late, and the next thing she knows, Cyrus had dragged himself to the shelf. He's pulling out book after book after book until—

"The ancient Sinnoans carved murals around the rock faces of Mt. Coronet." Cyrus shows the picture book. _That's a children's bedtime story… The illustrations are frighteningly similar to the archaeological discoveries on record._ "And look at this! The photograph matches the inscriptions of the White Moonstone and Red Sunstone!"

"Holy Arceus." Cynthia drops to the floor. "Professor, don't they look like compasses?"

Rowan raises a bushy brow. _Why, now that I think of it…_ He takes both the relics into his hands. One is cold, and the other warm to the touch. "Where did you two find these again?"

Cyrus hesitates. "Beach Cave," Cynthia blurts. "In Sunyshore City."

 _Sunyshore… that's quite some ways away._ Rowan produces his map of Sinnoh. "Beach Cave?"

"Yes, it's… um… well, it's somewhere in Sunyshore."

A piece of parchment is slid into Rowan's field of vision. A map of sorts. An annotated map drawn with crayon and colored with imagination.

And just for a second, the image of a beach at dusk flashes across his eyes _._

Cynthia gasps. "Beach Cave," Cyrus mumbles. "Is here."

"Oh." There's just something extremely intriguing about this handmade map. A tale of discovery, a tale of loss… "Miracle Sea? Waterfall Cave? Oh, there's Canalave City." Fiction occurring alongside reality.

_Hm?_

"Kids," Rowan says quietly. "Look at this. If you start at Beach Cave as your center and follow the arms of your stones…"

The Champion and ex-Galactic Boss do just that. And sure enough, the swirly arrows of the inscription pulsate with a gentle green glow.

"That's Treeshroud Forest," Cynthia whispers. The inscription seems to blink in response.

"And Mystifying Forest," Cyrus breathes.

"Crystal Lake!" Rowan exclaims.

"Fogbound Lake!" Cynthia cries. The three adults wait with bated breath as the compass arms converge…

"What is that?" Rowan grunts. "The desert?"

"Northern Desert." Cynthia and Cyrus look at each other. The latter raps his knuckles against the delicate parchment. He opens his mouth. Closes it. The rapping grows in tempo as if he's conducting a one-person orchestra.

"Cyrus?" Cynthia says before he can sprout wings and fly.

"These locations!" There's a sparkle in those dull blue eyes. A hint of _something_ in that usually dispassionate voice.

"What's happening?"

Rowan whirls around. "Platinum, come in! You're missing the best part!"

The girl is quite confused as to why the adults are huddled around a silly treasure map, but she chooses to humor them regardless. "Oh," Platinum says. "Aren't those locations where the Time Gears were found?"

"Yes!" The girl jumps at Cyrus's tone. It's not a harsh snap nor glower, but rather… "Yes, Miss Berlitz, excellent observation! Professor Rowan, Cy—Champion Cynthia, I can state with 99.98% certainty that the fifth Time Gear is hidden in Northern Desert!"

"There must be a secret passageway!" Cynthia exclaims as she herself is trembling with aniticipation. "O-Or better yet, a secret lake!"

"And I believe that Azelf, the Being of Willpower, will be guarding the last Time Gear." Cyrus's chest is heaving. He's taking in more breath than he lets out but doesn't seem to care at all. "If-If the scriptures at Celestic Ruins are true, then the three being—"

Rowan holds up a hand. "Pardon me? _The_ scriptures at Celestic Ruins? You…" _Woah woah woah._ "You actually deciphered it?"

"Yes!" Cynthia shouts. "Cyrus figured out what it meant! That's how we got past the puzzle in Crystal Cave!"

"That's amazing," Platinum gasps. "Professor Rowan and I have spent months trying to crack the code…" A soft smile. "I can see you as a professor someday, Mister Cyrus. You'll be a fine one, no doubt."

Cyrus's brows furrow. "No, that's impossible, Miss Berlitz. I don't have that type of future." He draws everyone's thoughts back with a snap of the finger. "Now, assuming that Azelf is guarding the fifth Time Gear at Northern Desert…perhaps in some Underground Lake. The question remains: is there a connection between these relics and the Time Gears? If so, then the three mirage Pokemon are involved somehow. Champion Cynthia affirmed that Uxie knew something about the stones…

"But the link to Dialga…"

A heavy tome slides into Platinum's hands. There's a suspiciously dark stain on the cover. An ominous splatter…

"I don't remember _this_ book being in the study," Cyrus mutters as he opens the pages. "Thank you, Mister Mori."

Platinum's lips unlatch with a silent gasp. "This is the first edition of _Sinnoh Mythos!_ The original manuscripts were destroyed during the Great Fire… Oh, look at this, everyone!"

She lays the book down. _He's straining his eyes again, go figure._ "They keep on mentioning this Tower. Temporal Tower, in fact, in a place beyond the seas and skies… And see these slots in the walls? Gears…" Platinum looks up. "I think they're meant to fix something in the Tower."

Cyrus is staring at Platinum with such an intense expression that the girl's ears turn bright pink. An excited Rotom dances across the orange skies.

"Temporal Tower," Cyrus echoes. "Time Gears." He's breathing into his sleeve. "I think… I… Oh, maybe…!"

"Just say it!" Rowan huffs.

"I think I know what to do now." Stated with utmost conviction. "If these stories _do_ hold a seed of truth, then we have proof that Dialga does in fact exist! And I am convinced that something is in fact broken, something with Temporal Tower, and _that's_ why the flow of time is messed up as it is!

"And if you are to confront Dialga, then all five Time Gears must be gathered to unlock the path! With the stones as compasses—"

"The path to treasure shall be revealed!" Rowan slams his fist into the floorboards.

"The path to destiny shall be revealed!" Cynthia yells, tossing her hands into the air. "OOH! Let's go! Let's go let's go let's go—"

Platinum raises her hand. "Er. Excuse me." The adults stare at her as if she'd just lost her memory. "I have two questions: First, won't taking _all_ the Time Gears complete the Planet's Paralysis? Secondly, how will we obtain the Time Gears if everything is under heavy surveillance?" Her lips are still rounded, but she cuts off there.

The energy leeches into the evening air. Cyrus slumps against the wall. Rowan and Cynthia sheepishly sit back down.

"It's still just conjecture, Miss Berlitz," Cyrus murmurs. "After all, I'm basing everything off folklore." He squeezes his temples, and he sighs. It's a sigh that shakes the walls of the Old Chateau.

"It's our best shot," Cynthia says firmly. "Cyrus, your theories have been right so far. If we're indeed dealing with a time limit, then anything is better than nothing, I'd say."

Rowan spreads out the rest of his documents. _There it is._ The five gear-like slots. That inscription. The statue at Eterna City. Dialga. The crumbling Tower. A prophecy that foretells the day when time stands still.

A chill snakes down Rowan's spine. _It's pure madness is what this is. And yet… the puzzle pieces do fit. And like it or not, he's the only one that seems to know anything about this whole mess…_

"Samuel and I used to frequent Mt. Coronet. We took pictures to document the ancient civilizations that used to live there. We theorized that there's a story associated with the murals, but as of right now, there hasn't been a lexicon—"

"The first mural praises the birth of Dialga," Cyrus says after one glance. "The second describes the birth of the universe from the highest point of Mt. Coronet… the moment when time began to flow, when space first started to expand…"

Cyrus frowns. "The third details a bitter war between the two dimensions." He leans forward. "But during… During the six hundred sixty-sixth solar eclipse… a great shadow interrupted the war. Then from that… an imbalance. An imbalance between time and space, an anomaly.

"But space eventually repaired itself. However… Well, it mentions something about Temporal Tower chipping away. A God driven to madness… sanity slowly but surely trickling away until darkness swallows the world."

The air absorbs those words like an overused sponge. A Starly lands on the window sill, shrieks, and flies away.

_Did the wind just stop?_

The door opens, returning life to the room.

"What the… Did someone die?"

"Ju… Jupiter." Cyrus scrambles for the wheelchair. "Jupiter, there's been adverse developments in the case. Assemble the Grunts—"

She marches in and seizes control of the wheelchair. "Thanks for taking care of him, everyone. I need to borrow him for a second."

"J-Jupiter! I don't have time—"

"Do you _want_ to walk or not?" Jupiter retorts. "Your crutches are collecting dust. I can help you make the best out of them, Cyrus."

Cyrus stares at her. Stares at his legs. "Really…? I thought… I thought you were against that."

"That's only when you injure yourself while sneaking off to practice on your own." She crosses her arms. "Well?"

"All right. Thank you." Cyrus grabs his crutches. "Pardon me, Miss Berlitz."

"Will you be back, Mister Cyrus?"

Cyrus blinks. "Yes… But feel free to continue without me, ma'am."

"Do your best, Cyrus," Cynthia says. He gives her a blank stare. Jupiter calls him, and he departs.

* * *

A few days pass with remarkable progress. Even with the thickening air of security, no one bats an eye when Professor Rowan takes to the skies on his chubby Starly. No one pays heed as he soars over the patches of frozen time, and if his estimates are correct, have blanketed 1/3 of the Sinnoh region in darkness.

 _"It's starting to reach Kanto,"_ Oak had said last night, over telephone. _"Lance and the Elite Four are investigating, but so far there hasn't been any significant leads. I mean, how do you **combat** something like minutes and seconds?_

_"Anyhow, how are things in Sinnoh? That's where it began, right? That's where everything bad happens hehehe—Sorry."_

_"It's true. But yes… I think we're on to something, Samuel. If his theory proves correct…"_

_"His?"_

_"Erm. Wish me luck, Oak. If we survive this, I'll treat you to this new milk confectionary at Solaceon."_

_To think that no matter how old one gets, there will always be surprises! To think that in all my sixty years, I'd be working with the hero and villain to save the damn world!_

* * *

Cyrus looks up when he hears footsteps. "Good afternoon, Professor Rowan. Diamond. Pearl. Miss Berlitz." He gestures to the chairs in the room. "Please have a seat."

"Just Platinum is okay," the girl squeaks. It's unclear whether Cyrus heard that or not. He's staring at the open book while twirling the feather pen in his hand.

"Mister Cyrus," Dia says. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"You look sick," Pearl adds gently.

"I'm fine." There's twigs and dirt all over him. Cyrus lifts his hand, revealing dark bruises around his temples.

"He fell a lot," a passing Mars says. "Slammed his head into the grass."

"I'll do better," Cyrus hisses. His lips curl downwards. "I'll be useful… I'll _make_ this useless thing function again…"

The Dexholders exchange glances. Then Honchkrow descends onto the armrests, and the blizzard halts in its tracks. The crow chirps, Rotom speaks, and Cyrus scoffs. "I'm all right," he assures the cautious Pokemon. "No need to concern yourself with me."

Dia nudges his friends. "Mister Cyrus. When did you catch Honchkrow?"

"My Murkrow evolved into Honchkrow, Diamond." The crow tips its fedora at the beaming boy. "He was left behind by the murder… Oh. That's the term for a flock of crows, Pearl." The boy releases a loud sigh, and Cyrus's eyes crinkle. "Nevertheless, we haven't located his family yet."

Platinum yelps as a fuzzy cannonball throws itself into Cyrus's laps. Pens and papers clatter to the floor. "H-How about Weavile, Mister Cyrus?" she gasps.

"Snowpoint City, Miss Berlitz. It's… quite a long story, and quite a messy one." His fingers hover over his eye as he speaks. Weavile chuckles nervously, but it receives its head scratch in due time.

"Gyarados must be tough to train," Pearl says. "My master, Crasher Wake, has one too. He tells me that if I _did_ consider training one, I'll have to be really, really patient."

"Yes, it's quite—" The icy mask cracks. "I-I'm sorry? Crasher Wake is your master? Pearl?"

It's Pearl's turn to be surprised. "Um. Yeah! Yes!" He pumps his fists into the air. "He even made me my own theme song! It goes like this!"

 _Oof. Well. At least he tried._ But to Rowan's surprise, there's one person who isn't covering his ears. One person who's not grimacing like the rest of his Pokemon.

Cyrus has his chin on his fist. "I see. That _does_ sound like something he would do."

"What?"

"It still amazes me how a small fish like Magikarp grew up—I mean, evolved into Gyarados." Cyrus moves to the window, where said Pokemon lowers its head for a deep rub. "He washed up on the beach after a storm… but he came back, even after the waters have calmed."

"Still," Rowan mumbles. "Training Magikarp requires a rigorous schedule of daily training. With its move set, it would take months to evolve…" There's a shine to the Pokemon's scales. A certain air of refinement… but a softness in its eyes when it sees the ex-Galactic Boss.

The professor clears his throat. Cyrus lifts his gaze. "Oh. Were you… I apologize. No, I rarely battled in the earlier years. And to be honest, I wasn't there when Magikarp evolved, so I can't give you specifics on that." A purse of the lips. "I apologize, Professor Rowan, but I think we should focus back on the task at hand."

But Rowan still has burning questions. _What is your connection with Rotom? How was it discovered? How did you know that it was named "Rotom?" Wait, what do you **mean** you weren't there to witness Magikarp's evolution?_

 _And the biggest mystery of them all…_ Rowan locks eyes with Crobat. It tilts its head, a mirror of what _he_ would do.

"So now we know the location of the five Time Gears… Yet, there's also a possibility that time won't stop immediately after one is taken…" Cyrus is tearing at his eyes. Rowan can hear the skin scratching at eyeball. "However if we _are_ to proceed with the plan, where will we take them…? Temporal Tower… if such a thing exists, where can it be…?"

"Your first Pokemon was a Zubat, correct?"

"Perhaps the two stones _will_ show the way if held aloft… but the question is, where? It doesn't make sense for the answer to lie at Foggy Forest—"

"Er-hem!" That, and Cyrus jolts. Rowan patiently repeats his question.

And Cyrus frowns. "I don't see how _that's_ of any relevance, sir." He turns back to his books. Crobat, on the other hand, is staring intently at the Pokemon Professor.

"Professor Rowan studies Pokemon evolution," Platinum says softly. "His research question involves understanding what evolution truly entails… Professor, you should give him the spiel."

 _Ah yes. The Spiel._ Rowan huffs. _I was born ready for The Spiel._ "Listen up. It's true that I study Pokemon evolution, but the more I delve into the subject, the more mysteries appear and multiply. Pokemon that evolve, Pokemon that don't… What makes them different from each other? Do those that are immature as living beings evolve to once more mature?

"You're all aware that battling is not the only way that Pokemon evolve, yes? There's item usage, trading, temporal factors… Happiness level…"

Crobat's ears perk up. Cyrus seems to mull something over. He shields his mouth with a sleeve, and he speaks _._ "I… I've also heard that there's a particular Pokemon that evolves if held upside down…"

"Really now? The mystery deepens as Pokemon research grows, does it not?"

"Indeed." Cyrus straightens. "There's also a new field in analyzing the energies released by said evolution. When Pokemon grow up—"

"Grow up?"

"Ah. N-No, my apologizes. When Pokemon evolve, they release a vast amount of energy, depending on the species and stage of evolution. The question is, what _becomes_ of that expelled energy? Since energy cannot be created nor destroyed, where does it originate? Within the Pokemon? By some thermal reaction? An external process?"

Rowan strokes his moustache thoughtfully. "I always _did_ wonder about that. Truth be told, there isn't a lot of funding within the field, Cy..ence."

 _What the hell._ It's the same sensation as biting into some mushy, moldy candy. The professor busies himself in checking his watch to avoid the all-knowing eyes of children.

But the other one remains blissfully oblivious. "Yes, science has made tremendous leaps in Pokemon research. However, more work should be done towards developing a more holistic approach to understanding Pokemon evolution. I—" He presses his sleeve against his mouth. "Ah… I apologize, Professor Rowan. I didn't mean to interrupt your spiel."

And Cyrus once again buries himself deep into his research, the books stacked around him like a fortress of paper. 

That is, until Dia trespasses across the invisible boundary. "Mister Cyrus. Mister Cyrus, look."

"I'm busy, Diamond. I'm sure Pearl can—"

"Mister Cyrus, look!" Cyrus stiffens when the boy leans against his shoulder. "Professor Rowan gave me this Pokedex. I've recorded hundreds of Pokemon throughout my journey in Sinnoh." Dia smiles. "Try it out, Mister Cyrus!"

"N-No. No." Cyrus shuffles back. "I need to work—"

"Crobat," Pearl hums. "'A Pokemon that gained vastly enhanced flying performance by having its legs turned into wings.'" _Boop!_ "Weavile. 'It sends signals to others by carving odd patterns in frost-covered trees and ice.'"

 _Boop!_ Platinum holds up her pink Pokedex. "Honchkrow. 'If one utters a deep cry, many Murkrow gather quickly. For this, it is called _Summoner of Night.'"_ Her laugh is a tinkling bell. "My Pokedex is updated, you see. The data entries are quite different from Diamond's and Pearl's."

Cyrus is staring at the Dexholders. "What…" He scowls. "No, never mind—"

"What what what?" Dia huffs.

"What…" A cough. Another pause. "What is Gyarados's entry, if I may ask?"

"'Once it appears, its rage never settles until it has razed the fields and mountains around it,'" Dia answers brightly. "And look, if you scroll down the cursor, there's more information: like the place you found it, the gender differences…"

Dia is literally dangling the Pokedex in front of his face. Cyrus keeps his distance, but his eyes are very wide, and his ears are angled inwards to what this boy had to say.

 _"You two."_ Words Professor Rowan had spoken long ago to the boys from Twinleaf Town. _"You truly love Pokemon, do you?"_ And they answered with the same shining eyes, the same curiosity and open heart.

_There happens to be an extra Pokedex in the satchel._

"Dia, remember when we bumped into Professor Rowan and Platinum's father? To think that a tiny thing can alter the course of our story! Hey, I wonder what Paka and Uji are doing—"

"Have you ever wanted to be a Pokemon Trainer?"

The Dexholders stop speaking. Rowan's words linger in the air, but they reach their target. Cyrus tears his gaze off the Pokedexes—

And Rowan sees it. Within that fleeting ripple of time, a surge of emotion seeps from those protect shields. Envy. Bitterness. Disappointment.

Regret.

"No," Cyrus states in cold monotone. His mask is perfectly blank, as if what Rowan had just witnessed was a mere trick of the mind. "Never. Don't be ridiculous." A scathing gale slaps back Dia's warm invitation. "I've wasted my time with enough vacuous sentimentality. I don't care what you four talk about amongst yourselves, but I have work to do."

"Mister Cyrus…"

 _Knock. Knock._ "Master Cyrus!" Saturn yelps. "It's time!"

Cyrus grates his teeth. "Finally. It'll work this time, Saturn. I have a strategy—"

"There's no strategy in walking, Boss," Mars pipes up. "Although, how are you going to swing your hands if you broke your arm twice—"

"Come on, Cyrus," Jupiter says. "The sun's coming down."

"Yes." Cyrus gives a nod to his visitors. "Pardon me. I'll be back."

* * *

As soon as he leaves, Cynthia enters the room. "Woah," she grunts. "What did Cyrus do _this_ time?"

"We just showed him our Pokedexes," Dia mutters. "He… He seemed to like it, but… then he acted as if it he didn't care."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Cynthia taps a finger to her lips, thinking. Then she shrugs. "I remember when I first got _my_ Pokedex. Brought it with me everywhere, even to the restroom." She smirks when Rowan's eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

"Cynthia," Platinum asks. "What type of map is that? I don't recall it in the regional atlas."

"You're right." Cynthia holds up the object. "We—Cyrus and I—called this a 'Wonder Map.' Back then, we pretended we were an exploration team in the pursuit of treasures and lore! Team Akatsuki, after the ancient word for _dawn!_ We'd make up places, but sometimes we would bring back actual treasure! That's how we found our relics!"

"You and Cyrus were close, huh?" Pearl murmurs with a shake of the head. "I _knew_ there was something between you two, but I never thought… Wow. That's amazing."

"Yeah…" Cynthia's gaze is faraway. "It's… it's hard to believe, huh? But it's true." She grasps the map to her bosom. "He remembered… He kept it after all this time…"

Rowan looks up from his arms. Cynthia had stopped speaking. Her head is turned to the orange skies, to the red sun that sits above the forest horizon. He follows her gaze down to the garden of roses and lilies.

"Come on, Doc!" B-2 is bobbing his ass like a pom-pom. "Almost there! Almost—ah."

"No," Jupiter snaps before R-8 can help. "He needs to get up on his own."

Pearl watches for a while longer. Then he laughs, much to everyone's shock. "I think…" He scratches his curled blond hair. "I think that Daddy will think that I'm crazy if I said that Cyrus isn't the type of person I thought he was."

Cynthia whirls around. "W-Why?" She pats her face. "I mean… why would you say that, Pearl?"

"I… huh, I honestly don't know. I thought he was a crazy cult leader at first… that's what everyone says, even Daddy." He twiddles his green scarf, the fabric darkening with the hues of the evening sun. "Um… yeah. Heh, maybe _I'm_ going crazy now."

Platinum snorts. "Maybe we're _all_ going crazy, Pearl. I too had qualms about interacting with Mister Cyrus, especially given the stern warnings from my parents and Sebastian…" She readjusts her red scarf. "But… maybe that's the right thing to do. That's how I feel, anyway."

Dia beams, and sunlight floods into the room. "Mister Cyrus isn't a bad person," says the boy with all the sincerity in the world. "I want you all to see that too."

He raises a hand to his heart. "Time is standing still across the region. If we don’t trust each other… if we don't consider other people's feelings… It can only lead to tragedy. Tragedy for all the people and Pokemon who live here. I just can't sit back and watch. I have to do something about it.

"That's how I feel, Professor Rowan. Mister Cyrus is trying really, really hard to fix his mistakes. But when you look at him that way, I can tell that he's hurting, even though he'll never admit it. And that hurts me too."

Dia turns back to watching the window. Pearl scoops his jaw off the floor—and he grabs his best friend into a wicked hug. Platinum hovers around awkwardly until Pearl pulls her in.

A gasp resounds from the garden. Rotom shouts. It performs a spectacular back flip and with a joyous cry, the Plasma Pokemon zooms down to witness the unfolding miracle.

"Jupiter…!" Slow at first. Hesitant. Cautious. "Jupiter!" Louder. Excited. "Jupiter, look! Jupiter, it works now! It's not broken anymore! Jupiter!"

"I know I know I see it! Cyrus, I'm so—" **_THUMP!_** "Oh. W-Well. We can always try again."

"He finally did it," Cynthia whispers. "That thick-headed idiot actually did it…!"

 _Cynthia was twelve when I entrusted her with the Pokedex. They must be around the same age…_ And the possibilities blossom into Rowan's mind. The "What if's." The alternative universes. The happily-ever-afters.

 _He certainly has a lot of potential._ A tinge of something breaks the professor's intimidating façade. _How different will this story be if… They'd make a great team, just like Diamond and Pearl…_

Yet one intrusive thought lurks within that realm of endings. A simple question with no clear answer.

_Just what went wrong?_

The kids are giggling, Cynthia included. Rowan frowns. "What is it?"

Cynthia laughs—a light, childish sound of pure mirth. "You look a lot nicer when you smile, Professor Rowan."

* * *

Jupiter invited the Dexholders to dinner. And Rowan, being the de facto guardian of these three children, tagged along.

That night, the Old Chateau is abuzz with light and sound.

"B-2, move your ass!"

"Mars, can I get a hand over here?"

"Ack, Platinum stop stop! Let Dia and Mars handle the food!"

A dejected Platinum joins the corner of the no-cooking club which comprises of a fidgeting Saturn and Cynthia. So when a Grunt asks him for help, the Commander gladly slips away.

"Lively bunch today." Jupiter leans against Platinum's chair. "Dia's a great help in the kitchen. And Pearl's a great coordinator."

Platinum pouts. "So who usually cooks, Miss Jupiter?"

"What do you—oh." A twist to the mouth. "Back then." She takes a seat beside the golden curtain. "Well, before Galactic was officially founded, I helped cook. I'm still amazed at how he managed to take care of Mars and Saturn when he can't even take care of himself." She crosses her legs. "We, the Galactic Commanders, usually join the Grunts during dinnertime. That idiot _lives_ on coffee, and with his workload…"

Something clatters in the kitchen. Ghosts shrieking. Someone crying.

"I'll be back," Jupiter murmurs.

"You do that." Cynthia glances around. "I should—"

"I'll do it." The professor rises. "I won't be much help in the kitchen anyway." He pats his muscled stomach. "You and Platinum see if they need any assistance."

And with that, Rowan leaves the mess hall. He brushes past the gawking Gengar, past a group of wide-eyed Ghosts as he ascends the stairs.

* * *

"Bzzt, bzzt!"

 ** _THUMP!_**. "Stupid… stupid stupid! It's so _easy_ why can't you--!" **_TH-THUMP!_** "You useless—"

"BZZZT!"

A silence. "I'm sorry. I'm all right, Rotom." Cyrus gropes for his crutches. He takes a deep, pained breath… and pushes himself against the wall. Rotom bobs indignantly.

"Er-hem."

Cyrus flinches. **_THUMP!_** And he instantly rightens himself to match Rowan's flinty gaze. "P-Professor Rowan. I… The room is unlocked if you needed to review any materials."

"Hm." Rowan glances at the agitated Rotom. "They've gathered for dinner."

"Yes. I'm aware." Feet sliding— _dragging—_ across the wood. _Clunk. Clunk._ "You should join them, Professor. I hear that Diamond's quiet an adept chef."

"That he is." Cyrus looks away. Rowan clears his throat. "He asked me where you were."

"Oh. I already ate." Rotom states otherwise, and Rowan doesn't need a translator for that. Cyrus scowls, and the Pokemon winces. "Am I disrupting dinner? I'll go away—"

"No." Cyrus jolts. _What the heck was that, Rowan?_ So the professor tries again. "You need to go down there and join your team. They helped you walk again, so the least you can do is join them for dinner."

"I'm wasting—" He blanches when the words finally sink into his stupendously thick skull. Cyrus frowns down at his feet. And after much deliberation, he speaks. "No. You're right, Professor Rowan. It's an unequal reciprocation, but…" His shoulders straighten. "Okay. I at least owe them that."

Rowan stands aside from Cyrus to limp to the staircase. It's already difficult to utilize crutches with one hand, but Cyrus dares to lift his foot—

The professor lunges forward in the nick of time. The crutches clatter down the two flights of stairs, ending in a heap near Jupiter's tapping boot.

* * *

"What did you say to him?"

Rowan wipes the crumbs of the mascarpone brownie from his moustache. "Excuse me?"

Jupiter's eyes flicker to the front of the table. "Dragging a Snorlax out of the way is much easier than getting Cyrus to come down to eat. What's your secret?"

_He's really a difficult young man._ "Nothing special, really." The soft of his scalp prickles. Rowan turns to meet that sharp gaze. He can see the gears clanking furiously in that brain. Then some kind of rationalization occurs, and Cyrus apologizes before shifting his focus back on the yammering kids. 

"There's a lot of Gastly around," Pearl remarks. One Mismagius musses his hair, earning a laugh from the Grunts.

"That's the Mistress of the Mansion," Cyrus says. Laughter dies. "The one at your side, Miss Berlitz, is the Master of the Mansion. Jupiter, the gardener asks if you'd like some flowers. And…"

A jab to Rowan's elbow. Nothing's there. He returns to his desert to find an empty plate.

"I apologize on behalf of Elise, Professor Rowan." Cyrus shoots a frown at the snickering Gengar. A Haunter swoops down to wipe the cream off the Ghosts's face. "This is Mister Mori. The butler."

The shiny Haunter bows its head. The professor, not quite sure what to do, returns a nod. _Oh yes. That reminds me._ Rowan produces his notes. "What's the truth behind the Old Chateau?"

The temperature suddenly plummets. Light is extinguished, ushering in an oppressive darkness that smothers faces.

Then it's bright again. Cyrus's eyes are dim, but he seems otherwise unfazed by… whatever that just happened. "The family gave me permission to tell you, is all." He tilts his head to the chattering Litwick. The humming Duskull.

"Back then, there was no treatment for chronic diseases. It was believed to be consumption, as her body had… hm? Well, this is what she says: 'I remembered dreaming about speaking to my father. I saw my body, I saw Mister Mori and everyone… But the nightmare held me captive. Father went to his study, and he brought…'"

Cyrus abruptly looks down. There's a lack of Ghosts now. This decrepit old mansion is as empty as can be.

_So the stains around the mansion…_

"The pain of losing is much worse than death, I suppose," Cyrus mumbles softly. "And uncertainty led to action… one final act of desperation to reunite his family again."

The table is rattling. R-8's spoon falls on the floor, the impact similar to a dropped grenade. A Grunt flinches, thrashing into her colleague, sending the right side of the table falling over like blue dominoes.

And Professor Rowan casually tucks his blank notepad back to the satchel. _Some things in this world are better left unseen._

The first person to break the heavy mood is the boy with the red scarf. "U-Um. M-M-Mister C-Cyrus?" The man tilts his head. Dia musters a watery smile. "S-Speaking of P-P-Pokemon…"

Pearl peeks up from under the table. "Uh. Oh! Um. S-Speaking of Pokemon! Sometimes we have battles with them."

"W-We sure do!"

"Sometimes status conditions can really throw you in for a loop."

Mars jabs her fork down the linen tablecloth. "Oh! That's right! Sometimes battles don't go exactly as planned."

Pearl holds up his fingers. "Poisoned, burn, frozen, sleep…"

"We've even gotten confused!" Dia cries.

"But wait!" Pearl exclaims. "There's one more common status condition!"

"There is?"

"Yeah, the one that numbs your body…"

"Um…"

Mars leaps to her feet. "Ooh! I know! It's _Paralyze!_ HAHAHAHA!"

"Hey!" Dia yelps. "You stole our punchline! I'm supposed to say 'Paralyze!' and he says, 'Please what?' And I say, 'Pleased to meet you!' And he says—"

Pearl shrugs. "It's okay, Dia. As long as Mars enjoys our comedy routine!"

That's when Mars stops laughing. She blinks slowly, her golden eyes wide like a Noctowl's. "What's a comedy routine?"

When silence once again stretches across the table, Saturn raises his voice. "S-So!" Heads whip to his direction. He balks. "Urk… M-Master Cyrus! What's the status of your research?"

Cyrus sets his untouched bowl to the side. "It's almost complete, Saturn. I'll finalize the plan by tonight, and I'll announce the details of the operation tomorrow."

_He has indeed the presence of a leader._

Jupiter sips her tea. "So. Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yes," Cyrus replies. "I apologize for the long delay. But yes, we'll be mobilizing soon. Be prepared for changes in daily activities in the near future."

Cynthia sucks in a deep breath. There's a pensive look on her face, one that Rowan can't quite place.

"We're ready," the Grunts declare. The Commander nod assent.

Cyrus's expression softens, and he returns to staring down at his knees. More silence, until Platinum opens her mouth.

"What'll happen then? To you? To your team?"

That question is like a slap to the face, but it's a question that needs to be addressed. Everyone exchanges glances between themselves before looking to their leader for reassurance.

"Regardless of what the future holds, we must focus first on the things we _can_ control." Cyrus sighs. "The present, you can fix. Worrying about an uncertain fate is unproductive. It's a waste of your time." That, and his lips tug to the side. _That doesn't sound reassuring at all._ But Cyrus looks rather calm compared to the rest of his pale-faced team.

The rest of dinner continues with mindless chatting from the Grunts, some jokes from the comedy duo, some witty remarks from Cynthia.

And it's one of those acts of fate where Rowan happens to be at the right place at the right time. In reaching for the sugar jar—that's when he sees it. That small, sad smile on silent lips. It's such a jarring thing that when Rowan blinks again, all traces of emotion are gone as if they were never there to begin with.

* * *

"Thanks for the food, kid!"

"You're such a good chef, Dia! I loved your rice balls!"

"Pearl, I _looooove_ your straight man gimmick! You're my inspiration!"

The Grunts gush on and on until Jupiter pulls them back. "All right, all right." She has to raise her voice to compete with the Kricketune. "They need to go home now."

Platinum gives a deep nod. "Thank you very much for the invitation, Miss Jupiter."

"Of course, kid." Jupiter's eyes glint in the soft moonlight. An ocean of stars twinkles overhead. "And thanks for staying to clean up, all of you."

"Good night, Dia!" Mars chirps. "Good night, Gramps!"

"See you, I guess," Saturn huffs. "Pearl."

"The meeting will start promptly at noon." That monotone comes from above. There's a fluffy head peering down from the window. "Professor Rowan, Champion Cynthia, will you be able to join us?"

"Yes!" Cynthia groans. "Go back inside!"

Rowan makes a sound that's halfway between a grunt and a growl. Cyrus nods. "All right. I'll see you tomorrow then, in my office."

* * *

The group is almost to Eterna City when something falls behind them. Hand on his belt, Rowan turns to see—

"Drifblim?" Pearl wheezes. The Pokemon moves aside.

"Pro… Professor Rowan." Cyrus slumps against the nearest tree as he catches his breath. He shakes the leaves off his hair. "Wa… Wait, please. You… hah…"

"Cyrus!" Cynthia hisses. "What part of 'stay in your room' don't you understand?!"

The former leader of Team Galactic presents the object to the light. "You…. Professor Rowan, you forgot this. I found it between the pages of my notebook. Please be mindful next time so you wouldn't misplace your belongings."

Rowan silently takes back his business card. _Rowan, PhD. Pokemon Researcher. Sandgem Lab. Research for a Brighter Future._

Cyrus breathes through his mouth. "Well. Farewell. Get home safety, and I'll see you tomorrow." He takes a step—and tumbles to the ground. Drifblim swoops the man to its swing-like seat, and with one last apology, Cyrus disappears into the darkness of the forest.

* * *

Tomorrow comes all too soon.

"Everything is ready." Cyrus gingery peels himself from the wheelchair. The transfer to crutches is successful. He teeters a bit, but stands his ground. "To the foyer."

The remnants of Team Galactic stiffen when the boss appears on the balcony. They're standing in perfect rows, with the Commanders in the lead. A sea of color within an achromatic gloom.

Cyrus plants his feet evenly apart. He squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, and tilts his head. "Is everyone here? Good. Now, thank you for bearing with me over the last…" A frown. "Anyhow, I would like to thank Professor Rowan and Miss Berlitz. Without them, this day would not have been possible."

Rowan huffs. He unwraps a Yum-Bar. "Hard work pays off. Ready when you are, Cyrus."


	37. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow.

"Yes. So as Professor Rowan said—"

Then the gears grind to a halt.

_Oh…_ A flush of warmth surges to her heart. Cynthia glances around, and sure enough, everyone had heard the old man's words clear as day.

Pearl is bouncing on the balls of his heels. "So Dia and I worked hard on this." The boys unravel the parchment, revealing… _the second edition of the Wonder Map_ _™:_ A wonderful restoration lined with crayon and colored with imagination.

"Mister Cyrus worked hard on the plan," Platinum says, hands clasping together, pink and blue rings intertwining. "And it's safe to say that we're finally headed into the right direction."

Rowan nods. "Take it away, Cyrus."

All eyes turn to the former Galactic Boss, whose neck snaps up with a hard crack. He stares at the children. At the Pokemon Professor. At the crowd eagerly awaiting his speech.

Cyrus frowns. He rubs the hair from his eyes. "Y-Yes. I… Yes." He snaps his fingers, and Rotom materializes at his side. "I wish to start from the beginning. To address the flimsy weight of the theory of the Time Gears, I've gathered testimony from the Pokemon…"

Cynthia leans in. "He _what?"_

"Cyrus was interviewing Pokemon yesterday," R-8 whispers back. "Like a job conference, but in the forest."

"Oh."

"…so we can proceed with utmost certainty." Cyrus gestures to the Wonder Map. "I'll keep this simple: the mission now is to retrieve all five Time Gears."

The smile slips from Cynthia's lips, and Cyrus sees that. "Worry not, Champion Cynthia. I've no ill will towards your world and all those you cherish. This is a necessary evil that will surely stop the planet's paralysis in its tracks."

"I never said I didn't trust you." But the words refuse to leave the tip of her tongue.

"I'm a hypocrite, I understand." Cyrus has this weird little smile. "However, I'm betting on the 33% chance that we'll have a window of opportunity after taking the Time Gear. During that time, we must make haste to Mt. Coronet. On the pinnacle of the mountain lies Spear Pillar… the site where the ancient Sinnoans gathered to conduct rituals to the Gods. Presenting the Time Gears there should activate a mechanism… and it should open the doors to Dialga's realm."

_"The path to destiny shall be revealed."_

"We want to help!"

"No." The Dexholders deflate. "You three have done enough. Thank you for your service. Now go home."

Platinum puts her foot down. "We are not children that you can easily dismiss like that! As heir of the distinguished Berlitz household, I refuse to stand aside as the world falls to the whims of a _Pokemon!"_

Pearl huffs. "Me too. As the next Battle Tycoon, I have an obligation to protect the people I care about. No… I want to. I _want_ to play my part instead of sitting on the sidelines."

And Dia finishes those convictions with a brave smile. "My gut tells me this is the right thing to do. Please let us help you, Mister Cyrus."

_"No."_

"I am their guardian." Rowan matches that glare with a glower of his own. "I gave them Pokedexes for a reason, Cyrus. I see their potential, and I know they can help you. Trust them."

"No—"

"Then trust me. Do you trust me, Cyrus?"

Cynthia can hear the gnashing of teeth, the muffled popping of knuckles as fists curl over the handles of crutches.

"If you _insist."_ Cyrus gives Rowan a peculiar look before returning to his audience. "Saturn."

The Galactic Commander perks up. "Y-Yes, Master Cyrus!"

"I have a special mission for you." Cyrus points to the Wonder Map, his finger hovering above the colorful lines. "Here, in the northwest region lies the Northern Desert. I'd like you to—"

"I'll do it!" Saturn roars. "I'll get that Time Gear, Boss!"

"Hmm. I know, Saturn. Regardless, Pearl will accompany you, just in case. Report any problems to me immediately, if they should occur."

"How—"

Cyrus snaps his fingers, and the Ghosts stream from behind his back. People cower, but upon opening their eyes, there's a mini-headset in their palms.

"Mars," Cyrus says. She straightens. "I'll need you at Foggy Forest. Diamond will accompany you. Be vigilant—the fog has gotten thicker…

"Jupiter, I'll need you at Treeshroud Forest. Disregard our maps, as the land has radically changed since then. Miss Berlitz will accompany you. You two hold considerable prowess, and if combined…

"And you two." The Grunts stiffen. "B-2 and R-8. I entrust you with Mystifying Forest's Time Gear. Are you up for the task?"

B-2 pinches his colleague, and she slaps him back. "Yes!" they cry. "Yes, we're ready!" The other Grunts shoot envious stares.

"Excellent." Cyrus gives them a deep nod. "The rest of you will remain here." He silences the protests with a raised hand. "We will be journeying into unknown territories. Even I cannot foresee what the future holds. We need people to watch the base." The boss taps his headpiece. "However, given the current state of affairs, be prepared to flee at a second's notice."

"Sir yes sir!"

"What about me?"

Cyrus blinks. The Pokemon Professor repeats his request. "Professor Rowan." Stated slowly and with a frown. "It would be wise for you to remain at the Old Chateau. That way, if any questions should arise, we can reach you."

That seems to sit well with Rowan. At least somewhat. _Gee, Cyrus really thought this through--_

 _Wait._ "What about me, Cyrus?"

Cyrus tilts his head. "What _about_ you, Champion Cynthia?"

"Cyrus." All attention turns to Jupiter. "You said 'we'… What about you?"

"Ah. I'll be going to Crystal Cave, of course."

Jupiter scowls. "With _who?"_

"My Pokemon." Cyrus gives a smile. A warm, reassuring smile. "I know the way, Jupiter. It'll be okay."

"Cyrus…"

"I can go with Cyrus," Cynthia volunteers. And that smile crumbles into dust.

"Diamond and Mars will need your knowledge, Champion Cynthia," he states. Like a demand. "You know the way around Foggy Forest. You know the secret of Groudon's Heart."

"But Cyrus—"

"Your talents are best suited where you're needed the most." Cyrus hobbles down the stairs. He walks up to that unestablished boundary, eyes bearing straight into her spine. And after all this time, she still has to look up to meet his face. "Besides, I'll just slow you down."

"Cyrus, listen to me. You started walking not too long ago. Don't be so stubborn—"

 _"I will be fine."_ Cyrus's smile is thin. His voice had gained an edge. "Our contract requires mutual corporation. I trust you to play your part, and in return, I ask that you trust me too."

"Cy—"

"May I see your hand?" _Huh? At a time like this…_ Cynthia reluctantly complies. In one fluid motion, Cyrus shakes his sleeve, and out drops the Red Sunstone into her palm.

"C-Cyrus." A hole opens in her heart. Frost gathering around her lungs. "Cyrus, what are you doing?!"

"My collateral," he replies, amused. "Use it to unlock the mystery of Foggy Forest."

The Sunstone is… cold. To the touch. Upon closer inspection, it seems to have lost much of its red luster. _Maybe it's the lighting…_ "Cyrus." A slight panic bubbles in Cynthia's voice. "You can't just… This is _your_ treasure! You found it!"

"It is a stone," Cyrus responds flatly. "A piece of earth and nothing more."

 _But…_ Cynthia holds the Red Sunstone to her bosom. _Hopefully it'll warm up soon._ Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cyrus leave. Leaves to the center of the foyer, where he holds his head high, steely gaze scanning the remnants of his team.

To some, it's an eerily familiar scene. One they can't quite draw the connection to.

Cyrus closes his eyes. A deep inhale, his shoulders relaxing as his spine unfurls to its full glory. He opens them, and he speaks.

"The arrangements have been finalized. Tomorrow, we'll set out on our individual paths. Spend the rest of the day preparing for the journey ahead."

He pauses. Gaze drifts to the windows, to the cloudy skies. As if he wants to say something more, but he simply signals the meeting's end. Then bodies are flying everywhere as everyone tunes into preparation mode.

 _What?_ Cynthia thought it was the wind at first. She turns to see Cyrus on the balcony before he disappears into the darkness. _No, he definitely did say something._ The words register in her visceral organs at first before they reach her ears. Almost like a feedback of distorted audio.

_"I couldn't have asked for a better team."_

* * *

There has never been so much movement in the mansion. It might be dusk, but there's a party in the old haunted house.

"Potions, Potions!"

"Anyone got Revives? Reviver Seeds work too!"

"I got a whole bag of Blast Seeds!"

"Anyone found my Power Band?"

Cynthia almost slams into a rushing Grunt. The Dexholders ask her to help them transport stuff, and she gladly obliges.

As the gears of the well-oiled machine run their course, there's a line outside the boss's office. He's inviting everyone in, one-by-one, to inspect their gear.

"The headpiece is working." Cyrus returns that to the Grunts. "And allow me to see your rucksack… Sitrus Berries, Reviver Seeds… and an Escape Orb?"

"Y-Yesh." B-2 puts his hands on his ample hits. "Just in case we run into a Monster House." His Beautify whimpers at the thought of that. "But we'll get the Time Gear, Cyrus. I swear it on my Butt Bounce Attack!"

R-8 rolls her eyes. "You are so full of yourself."

Cyrus leans back. A slow, quiet breath escapes his lips. His gaze wanders about the room, lingering on the rucksack, the arguing Grunts before him.

"You made him mad!" R-8 smacks her colleague on his big head. B-2's nostrils flare, and he gets her back with a pinch on the neck.

"You two have been around the longest." Arguments die immediately. "I have a question for you, B-2 and R-8… or would you prefer me to address you by your real names?"

They look at each other. Silence answers that question.

Cyrus picks at his sleeve. "A lawyer and a dentist… Why did you choose to join me? What made you give up everything to follow this nobody and his stupid illusions?"

Silence. Someone is yelling down there, but it quickly recedes into the static background.

"W-Why the sudden question, Doc?"

"Please answer me, B-2."

B-2 exchanges another glance with R-8. "Um… well…" He scratches his head. "You see…"

"I have a question for _you,_ Cyrus." The boss frowns. R-8 licks her lips. "Just how bad is your stage fright?"

The expression on his face says it all. She continues. "With every speech you made at Hearthome, you pushed yourself to overcome your glaring weakness. Am I right? It was so bad to the point of blacking out…

"But you kept trying. You kept trying because you truly believe in making your dream a reality. What you spoke weren't empty promises, but convictions. You put your heart, your soul into your words, and I heard that." She places a hand over her bosom. "Before you came, I don't think the sun has ever shone so brightly over Hearthome City."

B-2 grins. "Yes, what she said. Plus, I really like Galactic, despite my having no idea what I'm doing most of the time. Back then, while it was true that it was a well-paying profession, something felt missing. Empty." He utters a soft sigh. "Cold, rational judgement is no substitute for happiness, Cyrus. We can't survive without food, but we won't be human without compassion."

Cyrus frowns. Some sort of complicated equation had been unraveling inside that brain. His brows furrow, as if he's weighing a difficult decision.

"I see." There's something off about his voice, but the Grunts can't place it. "That's… all. Thank you for answering my question."

"Cyrus. Is something wrong?"

"No. No, everything is okay, R-8." Cyrus is smiling, but his grip has tightened over his crutches. "Inspection is over. I need to check in with the next group."

"Cyrus…?"

"Please assist the others. More details will be given come tomorrow morning."

Knowing that they won't get much more from the boss, the Grunts nod. "Okay, Doc," B-2 says. "Don't… don't push yourself too hard, okay? We're all here if you ever need to talk."

Cyrus turns to the side. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, R-8 and B-2."

* * *

The Dexholders hold their breath as Cyrus inspects their bags with a cursory glance.

"Diamond?"

"Yes, M-Mister Cyrus?"

Cyrus points to a metal lunch box. "You have a lot of merchandise of this robot."

The boy gapes. "Um. Y-Yeah! That's ProTeam Omega. Look, it's him right here. And that's the bad guy: The Demon Brioche." He opens his lunchbox. "I packed rice balls in case we get hungry on our trip."

"Well-prepared, as always." Pearl slings an arm over his friend. "Hey, Mister Cyrus. What kind of place is Northern Desert?"

Cyrus unfurls his own copy of the Wonder Map. "The area on the map is obscured by clouds, but the dry terrain starts in this area here. That's why it's rumored that a vast desert extends from this point onward… a secret beneath the sands. I believe that a Time Gear is hidden within its depths."

"Your intuition has been spot-on," Rowan murmurs. Cyrus's finger twitches. "Same with Crystal Cave… The Forests as well…"

"M-Mister Cyrus!" Platinum yelps. "Any advice for Treeshroud Forest?"

That, and Cyrus snaps back into Boss Mode. "Spend as little time there as possible. _Do not touch anything._ If you feel unwell, _leave immediately."_

Platinum swallows. "O-Okay. Okay, Mister Cyrus. Will do."

Cyrus sighs. "Regrettably, I lacked enough resources for more headpieces. You'll have to share with the Commanders.

"That being said, you'll do fine. You've overcome by obstacles with Pokemon by your side… You're all very brave for coming here in the first place."

The kids stare at him. Even the professor's resting frown had warped into a odd shape. Cyrus turns his head to the windows, letting his gaze fall over the darkening horizon.

"There's a particular equation that has captivated me as of late," he hums. "Deep, quiet emotions…" Dia bites his lips. "Strong iron-clad willpower…" Pearl scratches his head. "And when you add to that knowledge, in the presence of a trustworthy mentor…"

Platinum raises an eyebrow. "Er… what… what are you talking about, Mister Cyrus?"

"I apologize, Miss Berlitz. I've been rambling as of late." Cyrus inhales a deep whiff of forest air, shoulders rising and falling. "Anyhow, do your best. Meet everyone on the top of Mt. Coronet once you're done."

Pearl mouths something to Dia. The boy nudges Platinum, who looks up at Professor Rowan.

"Cyrus," Rowan says. A stiff exhale from the other side. "Here."

Cyrus glances over his shoulder. Frowns as his eyes narrow to the point of squinting again. "Oh. I apologize, I should've seen that when I cleaned the room." 

"I didn't lose it." The old man slides that card into Cyrus's shirt pocket.

"What—"

"I'm always looking for creative minds. Those with a passion for learning, a critical eye towards research..." Something else had replaced the professor's signature frown. "Those willing to learn from their mistakes… are always welcome to assist me in my lab."

Cyrus is staring at the old man as if he'd snapped. Then the implications sink in, and he gasps. "No! N-No—"

"Let's go, Dia, Pearl, Platinum."

"Wait, Professor—"

The children rush out the door with Rowan at their heels.

"Good work today, Cyrus." And with that, Professor Rowan closes the door.

* * *

Cyrus didn't hear the door open. He's wholly absorbed in glaring down at that slip of paper in his hand. Saturn clears his throat before the paper can erupt into an all-consuming flame.

"Master Cyrus… What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Cyrus tucks his hand under the pillow. "Please, have a seat."

Mars pulls out the chairs before Cyrus can get up. "So here's what I'm planning to bring, Boss. Gummi. Lotsa Pecha Berries. Gravelerock."

Saturn huffs. He reaches into his pack. "Here. Some Escape Orbs, just in case. And a Persim Scarf. Prevents Pokemon from getting confused in Foggy Forest."

"I'm so excited, Saturn!" Mars cries. "Finally, some action! We're back to taking Time Gears, but now we'll s-save the world!"

"Aren't you scared at _all,_ Mars?" Saturn rubs his arms. She stops smiling. "This is a really important mission. We're going into unknown territory… and the repercussions will be _huge_ if we fail—"

"Don't talk like that!" Jupiter barks—and grimaces. "Sorry. Don't… don't talk like that."

Another silence. Saturn turns. "M-Master Cyrus? Is there… something on my face?"

"Everyone calls me 'Cyrus' now. There's no need to address me with such formality." A tilt of the head. "But no matter how many times I tell you otherwise, you still persist. Why?"

Saturn bites his lips. "Why…? B-Because you're our boss…"

"I can't think of any other way to call you," Mars adds. "It just… stuck."

Cyrus's fingers are drumming across his knees. A nail tapping his temples. As if he's sifting through the many records in his dusty archives.

"Could've been a Pokemon Trainer…"

"What?"

Cyrus silently extends a hand. Saturn frowns, but he accepts the gift. "Ooh, this is the old man's card," Mars chirps. "Why're you giving this to us, Boss?"

Cyrus simply smiles, oblivious to Jupiter's intense staring. "It's quite late," he says. "You should rest early."

"Um. You… too, Master Cyrus." Mars glances to the window. "Follow your own advice for once."

The man chuckles. He props his chin on a palm, a peaceful smile forming on his softened features. It could've been a day on the beach. Listening to a scary story, a shower song… A song of the Wingull as waves crash against the shore...

Then Cyrus slams his fist down. When the Commanders regain their senses, they're gawking back at his usual frown.

"That's enough for today." Cyrus stands. Moves to the window so there's ample distance between him and his Commanders. "Please assist the others. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

Mars wrings her hands. Saturn coughs into his wrist. They look at Jupiter, who releases her clenched fists.

"Okay," says the older woman in a strained voice. "Good night, Cyrus."

"Good night, Jupiter." They can't see his face. The window panes are too dark to reflect. "Good night, Mars and Saturn."

* * *

"Cyrus?"

"Champion Cynthia…" A sharp exhale. "Please, have a seat."

"Okay…" Her heart's racing again. And Cyrus is doing everything he can to avoid her face. He keeps messaging his temples, as if there's a great weight on his mind. Unsurprising, but right now, she can _smell_ the frustration emitting from his very being.

_What are you thinking, Cyrus? What is it that you don't want others to know?_

"I trust that you've brought the appropriate supplies?"

"Y-Yes." There's no moon in the sky. A somber glow settles into the lonely bedroom. "Here."

"Hmm. You've stocked up on Reviver Seeds." Cyrus is talking to the contents of her pouch. "Well-prepared, as expected."

Cynthia takes a breath. "Cyrus, the Sunstone—"

'Thank you for bearing with me. It must've been frustrating waiting for me to get my act together." A thin smile. "No more distractions, I assure you. I've got a promise to keep, and you've got an obligation to fulfill."

A cold fire gleams in those faded eyes. "You're the strongest Trainer in the world, but that doesn't mean you should be overconfident. Mars and Diamond will help you, and if worse comes to worst, let me know. I'll help you in any way I can."

_You've helped me in more ways that you could've imagined._ "What'll happen then, Cyrus? A-After this is over…"

Cyrus clicks his teeth. "Do what it is you deem wise, Champion Cynthia." He deposits himself on the bed. Raps his fingers to the broken march of the clock downstairs. **_TICK. TICK._** Cynthia tears her eyes off the floor.

"Why do you still call me 'Champion?'"

Cyrus blinks. "Because that's who you are. A Champion. A Hero."

"Cyrus…" Cynthia runs a tongue across his lips. Rubs her knuckles together. "Why can't things be like back then? We're not enemies—"

"You're allowing this needless sentimentality to cloud your judgement, Champion Cynthia. That… helps no one." Cyrus shoves the blanket to the side.

"Cyrus." The Red Sunstone almost slips from her fingers. Almost shatters into a million, irreversible pieces. "I should go with you. We both know the way to Crystal Lake."

_I won't leave you alone again._

"Tch." His frown is cold enough to snap a crystal in two. "You still don't trust me, do you?"

"N-No, that's—"

"I never mean to criticize your decision, Champion Cynthia." She freezes. "I'm just… wondering. That's why I surrendered the Red Sunstone." She opens her mouth. Cyrus shakes his head. "At least let me have control over my operation. Let me have a say in something. Please."

_So stubborn. Just like… Holy Arceus. Just like me._ Cynthia stares down at the Red Sunstone, although 'red' is an understatement. She'd memorize all the cracks, all the nicks… yet the stone itself still feels so… _unfamiliar._

Cyrus clears his throat softly, effectively shattering the silence. "I need to prepare for tomorrow, Champion Cynthia. Please go home."

_Tomorrow…_ Cynthia stands. "Okay. Take care, Cyrus. Good night."

She never expected a response until one whispers back, almost passable for the rustling trees.

"Good night."

* * *

Cynthia's chest is heaving as she drifts down the stairs. It's dark now—everyone went to bed early. That's just how important tomorrow is.

She almost trips over a leg. Togekiss stares up from behind the walls of its capsule.

"Kakaka…"

Ice shoots down Cynthia's spine. She braces herself for a Shadow Ball that never comes. Instead, those crimson eyes keep their distance.

"He'll be okay," Cynthia whispers. Fangs flash in the darkness.

"Cynthia."

Gengar vanishes into the shadows. Heels clip across wooden floorboards, whatever light that's left catching on gleaming violet hues.

"Jupiter?" Cynthia glances around. "You're still awake?"

"Cynthia." Jupiter states that name with all its meaning and implications. "I have a small favor to ask of you."

* * *

A twirl. A courtesy. A graceful leap over the ornate couches and leather ottomans.

Crobat finds herself moving with the rhythm of that Haunter's violin. _What era is this music? Certainly not in the last 50 years…_

"Me now! Me!" Weavile jumps into the dance floor. He runs a claw down his collar, flicks a stray hair out of place. "May I have this dance, Lady?" he purrs.

"Oh, you're so sweet." Gengar accepts his invitation. "Do you know how to waltz?"

"Eh? I-I mean. But of course, madam. I'm sure you'll make an excellent teacher."

"Zzzt! Disco ball time-zzt!"

"This is wonderful," Crobat gasps. Honchkrow cracks a smirk. "But won't the noise wake everyone up?"

"We're on the third floor, are we not?" Honchkrow spreads a wing over the lavish room. Weavile is thrashing about the floor. It's a miracle there hasn't been any complaints. Yet.

"I CAN HEAR HIM FROM HERE," Gyarados groans from inside the Poke Ball.

"Oh, let him dance," says Crobat. "He deserves it."

Honchrkow throws a slight cough. "Yes, yes he certainly does." He makes another strangled sort of sound. Fiddles his talons. Crobat tilts her head, but he quickly pulls down his fedora.

After the waltz ends, the room bursts into applause. Tears glimmer in Weavile's eyes as he basks in his ten minutes of fame.

_"Magnificent performance, Weavile."_ Even Cyrus is clapping. The cat launches himself into his open arms. Honchkrow tugs at the human's leg. _"You did wonderful too, Honchkrow."_ He brings the crow up to his shoulders. _"Why didn't you dance with Crobat as well?"_

Honchkrow snaps his beak. Cyrus merely chuckles.

Crobat turns. "So your name is Elise? That's a lovely name."

Elise's face brightens considerably. "Thank you! My father was inspired by his favorite novel." She taps a claw to her mouth. "Shame though. Cyrus should really name his Pokemon."

"He's not really creative," Weavile says.

"He called me Wingull once," Honchkrow grunts. "Do I look _anything_ like those miserable bird-brains?"

_"What is everyone talking about?"_

Rotom giggles. "Nothing, nothing-zzt. Hey, Cyrus-zzt. You should lead."

Cyrus scoffs. _"Me? In this state? I can't even walk for ten steps without falling."_

"Then why do you insist on going alone?" Elise snaps. The music screeches to a stop.

_Alone…?_ Crobat swivels back. "Cyrus, where are you going?"

_"To finish what I started,"_ Cyrus replies after Rotom's translation. He pats Crobat's head. _"We'll be leaving early tomorrow."_

"Bzzt, bzzt, finally!" Rotom loops a figure eight. "Some action-zzt! I'mma shock'em with this, Cyrus-zzt! They don't know who they're messing with-zzzzt!"

Cyrus gives the Plasma Pokemon a long look. Then he stands, stumbling a bit, and crosses the now darkened room to the lone source of light.

"Cyrus," says the Haunter. "Where are you going?"

_"I'm just looking, Mister Mori."_ Cyrus throws a leg over the window ledge.

And her heart tightens. With no reason nor rhyme, Crobat flings herself forward, wings blindly groping for a piece of the man she calls her Trainer. She grabs his wrist, and the constriction vanishes into a sigh of relief.

_"Crobat…"_ Cyrus picks her up. _"Don't… don't look at me like that."_

"Get back before you fall!" Honchkrow snarls.

_"Look at the view, everyone."_ Cyrus ushers the crow and cat into his arms. Weavile snuggles into the rough fabric of that cast, smiling at the sound of that calm, soothing voice. _It's so high up… as if I'm looking down from a castle to the domains of my land. The trees, the grass, the flowers, the sparkling lights of a city nearby._ Crobat sneezes, and Cyrus holds her closer. _"I wonder what colors make up the night sky. They must very nice colors… Oh, look there, Honchkrow. The Northern Star—"_

"Don’t dangle your legs like that!" Honchkrow barks. Cyrus chuckles, but he pulls his knees back.

"Oooooooooo…" Red eyes flashing in the wind. Streamers. A large, violet body. "Cyrus, it is quite late—"

_"I'll be back,"_ Cyrus announces to the Ghosts. He throws himself forward, and thank Arceus Drifblim catches him in time. Despite the Blimp Pokemon's grumbling, she allows the man to board her swing.

"Cyrus—"

_"I'm just going for a little walk, Mister Mori. Let's go, Drifblim."_

Drifblim casts a wary glance, but she nevertheless takes to the skies. The Pokemon also spread their wings—with the exception of Weavile, who's just as content to hang out on that cast like a baby.

"You can Fly?" Honchkrow grunts when Gyarados is released. The sea serpent is indeed treading air like he does water.

"WHY ARE _YOU_ SO SURPRISED?" And that's the end of that.

Weavile shifts. "Hey, Cyrus. I want a Watmel Berry. Ya got any more of them Poffins?"

Cyrus looks at Rotom. _"He wants food, doesn't he?"_

"Ding ding-zzt! Watmel Berry." Rotom giggles. "You don't need me to translate, Cyrus-zzt. You understand them perfectly well!"

Cyrus replies with silence. In fact, he remains silent for the rest of the ride while the Pokemon chatter on and on about the most random of things. Crobat happens to catch his gaze, but before she can say anything, he had turned away.

Driblim settles down on a clearing of whispering trees. There's a full view of the moonless sky… but one can always be amazed at the vast breadth of the heavens. It's the same skies from all those years ago—back at that place of golden sands and beaches, back when she and Murkrow knocked on that window and he'd rush over to welcome them in.

"An expedition you say?" a Kangaskhan exclaims. "Be careful, dear! It's a rough time for traveling."

"You need TMs?" says a pink Kecleon.

"You need Seeds?" adds his brother.

A Vigoroth jolts. "Wait. You're goin' to Crystal Cave?"

Gyarados cocks his head. "YES… WHAT ABOUT IT?"

The monkey pounds his fists into the grass. "My great-great-great-great-great-great-great Grandmama Slaking says there's nothin' but bad about that place. Only those lookin' for trouble go there."

"Surely it's not that bad," Crobat mutters.

"Nah lady. Is bad." Vigoroth is shivering now. The temperature suddenly plummets. "Them rumors. Naaasty rumors. Horrifying rumors… Tell your human to stay away if he knows what's good for 'im."

Rotom had stopped smiling long ago. "What rumors, bzzt?"

"The one called Mesprit—"

_"Rotom."_

"BZZT! Y-Yeah?"

Cyrus keeps his gaze straight ahead. _"You will remain at the Old Chateau."_

"BBZZZTT?! WHY?!" Rotom thrusts its crackling axis into the air, almost burning Kangaskhan's baby. She shoots it a scowl, but the former is too agitated to listen. Cyrus's frown deepens. "You have room for me-zzt! And I'm fast—bzzzt! Look!" Budew flee from the trees when lightning cleaves their home in two.

 _"Rotom,"_ Cyrus snaps. It winces. _"I need you to stay to watch over the Old Chateau. Drifblim will be there if anything goes awry."_ The Blimp Pokemon makes a soft, rumbling sound. _"A part of my team will also be there. And you have friends here who can help you."_

"But I want to GO! BZZZT!" Cyrus's hair shoots from his follicles. Rotom hisses, and the air visibly shakes. "LET ME GO-BZZZT!"

_"Rotom!"_

"What if something happens to you, Cyrus-zzt?! What if… W-W-What i-if…"

Rotom freezes. It blinks. Blinks again as its gaze slowly climbs to that hand. A hand that, ignoring the electricity splintering against skin, curls around the lightning rod with a gentle grip.

"Zzzt… Cyrus…?"

_"Thank you for being my friend, Rotom."_

Rotom ceases struggling. A cold breeze blows, rolling leaves across the forest floor.

 _"Pardon me, Rotom."_ Rotom moves. Cyrus stumbles to a fallen log, and he sits. He scoops a silent Crobat into his lap. Then Honchkrow. Then Weavile.

"CYRUS?" Gyarados whispers when the man leans against his body. The serpent lowers his head. "CYRUS?

A deep breath resonates from Cyrus's chest. Rising. Falling. His lips part, and a puff of chilled air skims above Crobat's face.

Honchkrow sighs. "Well. At least he didn't pass out on the ground."

"It is safe," Drifblim says. "Nothing will harm him here."

 _His heartbeat is… irregular. Or is that mine?_ Crobat's eyelids are drooping as well. _It's been a long day._ She wiggles into his bosom, wedging herself into the familiar smell of dusty metal and crisp pine.

Weavile yawns. "What time we wakin' up tomorrow?"

"HE WILL WAKE YOU UP," Gyarados responds. "JUST REST FOR NOW."

As the Pokemon drift to sleep, Rotom turns its gaze to the man. Stares at him. Reaches a muted axis—hesitates—and taps his cheekbone. _Tck._ No reaction. Except for a furrow of the brow.

"Of course I'm your friend, Cyrus-zzt. What craziness are you saying-zzt?" Rotom pokes him again. A brief spark, but Cyrus merely sinks deeper into sleep. Rotom's mouth tugs gently.

"Bzzt… Don't keep me waiting, okay? Save the world and all that-zzt, but don't forget about me." A playful flick on the ear. "Good night, bestie-zzt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF ARC II. ONWARD TO THE THIRD AND FINAL ARC!  
> Thanks for all those who've read this far! Here's to more!
> 
> Pokemon Ask Blog is open:   
> https://banhsuniverse.tumblr.com/
> 
> Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi!  
> https://ko-fi.com/banhss


	38. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to head out. Places, unlike humans, haven't changed as much after all this time.

_"Cynthia, I have a small favor to ask of you."_

_"A… favor?" Words so familiar, yet so foreign. Words uttered before the same events that have yet to unfold._

_"Yes. You saw it too. That smile… I don't like it._

_"Not one bit."_

* * *

That was last night. It's morning now, with the sun peeking out from beyond the grove of trees. The dawn of a new day, of an exciting expedition.

"Can Beautifly fit two people?"

"Um… no," says B-2. "Unless you want it to snap in two. Um. We can piggyback—"

"No need." R-8 pulls out her Poke Ball. "I have Vespiquen… I just need to learn how to ride her."

The lawn has been converted into a runway, the Grunts into the ground crew. The Flying-Type Pokemon look on as humans rush back and forth like angry Combee.

"I don't think Golbat fits two people, Mars." Dia chomps on his rice balls. "But I don't have any Pokemon that can Fly…"

Mars waves a dismissive hand. "No problem! You can ride Yanmega! She can do flips and flops, so it's really fun!"

Dia almost chokes on his rice. Meanwhile, next to a waterhole near the edge of the lawn, a disgruntled Dexholder and Galactic Commander are arguing over more pointless matters.

"You're seriously flying _that_ pipsqueak?" Saturn juts a thumb to Chatot.

"At least I _have_ a Flying-Type," Pearl retorts.

That issue was resolved by an exasperated Drifblim, who also (reluctantly) agrees to be their blimp.

Jupiter watches the boys bicker for a bit more before turning her attention back to a grim Platinum Berlitz. "I have a Crobat," the former says, summoning her Pokemon. "You can ride him."

"O-Oh. Thank you, but…" Platinum fidgets her toes. "What about you?"

"You're small enough." Jupiter smirks. "It'll be fine."

"Testing, testing." Rowan's steely eyes rake over the bustling group. "Everyone hear me?"

"Yes!"

Dia waves. "Cynthia, Cynthia! Are you ready?"

Cynthia glances around. She allows herself a minute of deep breathing, allows herself the chance to fully appreciate the crisp forest air, the sweetness of the pollen… until her pulse returns to normal rhythm.

_"You're the only one I can ask."_

Cynthia flashes Dia a bright smile. "Actually… Change of plans." She crosses the garden, brushing past the frosted flowers. A mist had settled overnight, blanketing the land in glimmering dew. Quite slippery.

The Red Sunstone gives her the much-needed kick to the ass. Cynthia exhales through her mouth.

"Cyrus."

That blue head stiffens. He'd been calming down an agitated Gengar, and his face shows the fatigue of that hard-earned victory.

"Champion Cynthia," Cyrus croaks. "May I help you?"

"Yes." _One breath. Two breaths._ "Come with me."

Cyrus frowns. Nevertheless, he follows her to the lawn, back to civilization. _Rotom isn't dancing around today,_ Cynthia notices. It's sticking to his side, but whether Cyrus feels any pain, he doesn't show.

Cynthia escorts Cyrus to the center. "Dia," she says. "Mars."

"Yes?" At her insistence, the boy holds out his hands. Cynthia slides the White Moonstone into Dia's grip.

The grin fades from Mars's face once the realization sets in. "Um. Cynthia? The Boss gave the Red Sunstone to you…"

"I know. It's yours now." Cynthia catches Jupiter's small nod, and she ignores Cyrus's incredulous expression. "Let's go, Cyrus."

"Go…? I'm… I'm going." Cyrus's eyes are narrowed as he fumbles for a Poke Ball. "I'm going right now."

"No." Cynthia calls out Togekiss. The white bird falters at Honchkrow's sneer. "Mars, Dia, resolve the mystery of Groudon's Heart. I put that in your capable hands."

For the first time in a long while, Mars isn't smiling. She painfully tears her gaze from the Red Sunstone in her palms. "I'm sorry, _what?_ You want us to _what?"_

_"What?!"_

"You heard me, Cyrus." She glares at him straight in the face. "I'm going with you. That's final."

"Did you not hear _anything_ I said?" She cringes. Cyrus launches a hand in the air, almost tossing his crutches in the process. "Must I repeat myself? _What is the problem here?"_

"Bzzt…"

"Rotom, stay out of this. Champion Cynthia, what I've asked from you is but a simple task! Even a _Bidoof_ can comply! I'm not imposing sanctions nor withholding information like last time so what. Don't you understand?"

_HOLY ARCEUS._ "I _know_ it's a simple task, and what I'm asking is even _simpler!"_ She jabs a finger to his throat. "What's _wrong_ with going with you? Everyone has backup except for you! I'm just evening out the odds!"

"Evening out the… Tch. Go with Mars."

"Cyrus—"

"Go with Mars and Diamond, _now."_

Cynthia's knees buckle. _No. No, I won't let him win. I mustn't._ Everyone is staring. She gathers every ounce of the Champion of Sinnoh's eminence, to rise to her full height and power.

_"I am going with you!"_ Cyrus flinches. Cynthia slices a sharp hand across the air. "End of story!"

"You… Tch." An exasperated exhale. A scowl dark enough to force the sun into a black hole. "Who set you up for this—ah." Cyrus cracks his neck to the side. "Of course…"

"May I remind you that you're still on crutches?" Jupiter says it slowly, as if she's talking to a moron. "Your arm is still broken. You've electrocuted yourself more than a _normal_ human being should in their lifetime, you _escaped_ to the dumpster—"

Cyrus slams his crutch to the ground. "So what is it that you wish to tell me?" His voice is now dangerously even. Everyone uses the Pokemon Professor as a shield from an encroaching blizzard.

"You heard me perfectly well!" Cynthia snarls.

"Bzzt!"

"Kakaka!"

Cyrus gnashes his teeth. He jerks to the side, and he drags a hand through his scalp with such force that he almost pulls out hair from its follicles.

Then he suddenly jolts, head snapping up as if a lightning bolt had struck his skull. "Oh. No, you're right." Cyrus turns. His face is perfectly smooth, except for that serene smile. "I am wrong, of course. It would be my honor to accept your company, Champion Cynthia."

That change of heart is so jarring that Cynthia almost falls off Togekiss. Cyrus sees that and shrugs as if it's perfectly normal. 

"Professor Rowan."

The Professor raises an eyebrow. "Hm."

"Please look after everyone."

And before anyone can say anything, Cyrus takes to the cloudy skies. One second… two seconds… and everyone else scrambles to their Flying-Types before they're left behind.

Togekiss shoots up to the front with what sounds like irritated yelling. Honckrow snaps its beak in response, earning a scowl from the white bird. "Whoa, Togekiss." Cynthia reaches to pat its cheek. "Come on. Lift that frown upside down." _You're the Jubilee Pokemon. It's not… right for you to be this riled up._

"They're waving! Bye, everyone!" Dia has to pull Mars back before she falls. "We'll be back soon! Good bye!"

* * *

The group flies in a V-shape, with Cyrus leading the flock.

Cynthia looks down occasionally just to measure distance. Green and brown and grey blur into a disorienting mess. The winds have picked up, but fortunately, they're not fighting against the currents.

_"Not yet."_

Cynthia whips her head around _. Probably just the wind._ Togekiss skids to halt, and her stomach gives a sickening lurch.

"Those of you heading for the forests." A sharp gale snatches a handful of hair. Cyrus pins his hand down to his forehead. "Good luck."

A silent conversation passes between B-2 and R-8. The somber tone makes B-2 age almost overnight, stripping away his cheerful mask to reveal the sullen man underneath. "Okay," he says. "We'll part here."

R-8 touches two fingers to her cheek, which she flicks to the side. "See you on Spear Pillar." With that and one last long look at the group, the Grunts take off West, where Mystifying Forest awaits.

Jupiter notices Platinum's shivering. "I'm with you," the older woman murmurs. "It'll be okay."

Pearl exhales carefully. "I-If you're late to Spear Pillar, I'm fining you 10 million!"

"That's it?" Dia mumbles.

"T-Ten billion then!"

"Oh, i-is that it?" Platinum reaches into her bag, but her hands are trembling too much to grasp the appropriate Poke. Jupiter politely informs the young aristocrat that it was just a joke, to which the latter still looks unconvinced. 

"Pearl."

The boy jolts. "Y-Yeah, Mister Cyrus?"

Cyrus turns his head to avoid Cynthia's stare. "Diamond."

"What…oh." Dia's eyes widen once realization sinks into his skull. Then he smiles. "Yeah, you're right, Mister Cyrus."

"Huh? What, what?" Pearl looks so lost right now. _Can't blame him._

Dia clears his throat. "Speaking of Pokemon!"

"What…? But…"

"Speaking of Pokemon!"

Pearl's eyelids are fluttering, but he eventually relents. "Um. Speaking of Pokemon… It's fun to go shopping when you travel with them!"

"It sure is!" Dia chirps.

"Every town has places that sell cool stuff—like Poke Balls and medicine. What are those places called again…?"

Dia claps his hands. "Oh, I know! THE POKE MART CHOP!"

**_SMACK!_ **

"OW! NO, NO! It's a Poke Mart _Shop,_ not _Chop!"_ Pearl rubs his poor head. "When we get to the next one, what would you like to buy? I could use a Full Heal. Owwie…"

"Oh! Does it hurt where I chopped you? I have a Full Heal you can use…"

Pearl slaps Dia's cheek. "You idiot! I was kidding! That's just for Pokemon—"

"I myself would purchase a new brooch, a necklace, a—"

"Platinum!" Pearl hisses. "You just ruined our punchline!"

"Perhaps a new dress. Oh, a _calico_ dress! And a new choker. I could use some new earrings as well…"

Jupiter smirks. "Hearthome is a fashion capital. The shops sell all manner of jewelry, clothes, and makeup that you can't find anywhere else."

"Girls are really into that stuff, huh?" Saturn mutters, earning a nod of pity from Dia and Pearl.

Mars finally gathers herself to speak. "AAAAAH! AHAHA! Aha… ha… Phew! Jupiter, you should Missy here to Hearthome. Show her around."

That statement catches everyone off-guard. Platinum, though, bounces eagerly on Crobat's head. "I'd like that!" Those grey eyes are shining like sterling silver. "Yes, I'd like that very much! I _love_ your nail polish! Bubblegum is in season this year!"

"It's not pink, it's fuchsia." Jupiter snorts, but her features are soft. It's so contagious that Cynthia cracks a giggle.

Pearl and Dia hold up their Pokedexes. Platinum produces her own, and her smile grows brighter as the beeping rings synchronous.

"Our friendship transcends any distance," Dia hums.

"Go kick butt, Platinum!" Pearl shouts. "Show them the power of a Berlitz!"

Platinum is vibrating as if she'll erupt on the spot. "Yes, yes, YES! I will! Let's go, Miss Jupiter! To Foggy Forest!"

"Kick some ass!" Mars hollers. Saturn pumps his fists into the air, earning a soft chuckle from the older woman.

"Of course," she says. "You can count on us. Remember: rendezvous on Mt. Coronet!" With that and a cursory glance at Cynthia and Cyrus, she spurs Crobat forward. The group watches the Pokemon grow smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of a faraway fog.

* * *

"Mars. Diamond."

"Yes, Boss." Mars presses the Red Sunstone to her cheek. The stone radiates a faded glow, but Cynthia can feel the warmth even from here.

"Don't… don't goof around, Mars."

"I should say that about you, Saturn."

"DIA!"

"UH! W-What, Pearl?"

Despite his green scarf billowing in the wind and smacking his face raw, Pearl gives Dia the loudest and brightest grin ever seen in the Sinnoh Region.

"Don't trip!" Pearl shouts.

"And have a nice _trip!"_ Dia replies. Saturn groans while Mars loses it again.

With that, Yanmega and Golbat fly into the distance. Despite the churning sea of clouds, her voice still manages to carry through.

"Good bye! Good bye! Good… bye…"

And they're gone.

* * *

Saturn unclenches his fists with a sharp hiss. "Okay… okay. I'm ready." Pearl wets his lips as he withdraws his head from the surroundings.

"L-Look, I'm as nervous as you—"

"I AM NOT SCARED!" Saturn growls, and Drifloon sighs. Cynthia sees the caked blood underneath his fingernails. "I am the Great Saturn! I-I've had worse missions! I-I-It's just the cold! It's so damn c-cold that…"

Then his shoulders slump. Pearl awkwardly clears his throat. "Um… We should go. Before the weather gets any worse."

"Fiiiiine." Saturn slowly lifts his head. He stares at Cynthia, and she nods, prompting him to unleash a sigh of relief. "Okay. I'll let you know as soon as we hit Northern Desert."

Honchkrow flutters closer to Drifblim. Cyrus's shields are ever so high as his gaze sweeps over the boys. He's pondering something, judging from that tilt of the head… then he lifts a timid hand and puts it on Saturn's shoulder.

"M-Masdhfasdfsdsad..?"

Before Saturn's brain can work again, Honchkrow and its Trainer are already gone.

_Holy Arceus._ Cynthia bids another farewell to the two boys before shooting to the rolling clouds herself. "Cyrus! Wait up! Cyrus!"

* * *

It's been… _minutes? Hours?_ Nothing but pulsating clouds for miles and miles.

Cynthia steals a peek at her companion. He has his gaze straight ahead, neck stiff and straight. A memory sneaks into her mind—one of an orange sky, speckled with stars, of a beach, of her ruining his suit.

Thunder rumbles overhead. Cyrus's breath stutter, his knuckles tightening over Honchkrow's rippling down. Only when the crow growls does Cyrus release his earth-shattering grip.

"Are you cold?" _Wow, way to start a conversation, Cynthia._

No response. Togekiss chirps, and Honchkrow responds with a twist of its beak. Cynthia stares down at her hands—anything to keep this familiar bitter taste from spilling out.

"I-I have some rice balls that Dia made." She unravels the plastic wrap. "It's still warm."

Cyrus accepts it. He holds it to Honchkrow, who swallows it in one satisfied gulp.

* * *

Then after another eternity of silence, Cyrus juts his chin. Honchkrow curls its wings, and Togekiss follows its descent. Down, down… breaking through black clouds until they touch ground.

Cynthia rushes to get his crutches. Cyrus offers a faint "thank you" but from his tone, it's clear that she isn't needed. Nevertheless, she refuses to let him out of his sight as they traverse through the ravine.

And there it is. Red crystals. Blue, gold, pink. A handful of crystals multiplying in swarms as they near the entrance.

"There it is," Cynthia whispers, hand pressed upon her pounding heart. _Crystal Cave. Truly, nothing's changed… except for the police tape._

_"Don't you know, Cynthia? Criminals always return to the scene of the crime."_

Cynthia blinks. She looks around, but of course, it's just her nerves. Meanwhile, Cyrus is already at the other end of the clearing. Unlike her, he's just staring at the ground.

_Has he always been so far away…?_

"Cyrus—"

"Professor Rowan, do you copy? Yes, we've arrived at Crystal Cave. R-8, what's your ETA? Good, make sure B-2 doesn't accidentally touch anything with his posterior. Mars—okay. All right. Okay, remain vigilant, Saturn.

"Hmm? Yes, Jupiter." Those piercing eyes fall on her spine. "Yes, the Champion is with me. She'll keep me in line."

Cyrus puts down his headset. He stops before the yawning mouth of the cave, and he leans precariously into the darkness. A low hum resonates from deep within, escaping to the surface as an ominous growl.

_Is someone… crying?_ Cynthia slaps herself. _No, no, get it together, woman! It's messing with your mind again! This cave… this godforsaken place…_

A fat, juicy raindrop splatters on her head. "Let's go, Cyrus," Cynthia mutters. 

"You'll always be my jailer, will you?"

"What?"

Cyrus shakes his head. He lifts a crutch—and slams it down the police tape, cleaving the thing in two.

**_BOOM!_ **

"Onward," Cyrus says. "We don't have much time."


	39. Crystal Cave Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same place, different outcome.

The rain came down as soon as they entered Crystal Cave. Lightning cleaves the world in two, prompting Cynthia to jump backwards.

"O-Oops. Sorry, Cy—"

Cyrus violently yanks his shoulder away. He mutters something under his breath, words intercepted by the rain before they reach Cynthia's ears.

Crystal Cave is one of those places that fills you with a sense of awe and foreboding. Her stomach moans unnecessarily. Every minor sound makes her jump. Every breath comes out as a chilled puff.

_The crystals are still colorful._

**_Clip. Clip._** The ground is littered with debris. It's like wading through a sea of dust. How Cyrus hasn't fallen yet remains a mystery.

Or maybe she spoke too soon.

"Professor Rowan."

_"Cyrus, did you feel that? There was an earthquake just now. Quite a big one too."_

Cyrus messages his knee with a grimace. "Was anyone hurt?"

_"No. But the Pokemon are growing restless. Rotom won't calm down—"_

 _"ZZZT!"_ Cyrus yanks the headset away. _"ZZzzzZT!"_

"I'll be careful." Those eyes flicker to Cynthia, to the entrance far, far away. "It's raining here… and perhaps it's raining somewhere else as well. From the looks of things, this will be a big storm."

_"Doc!"_

"B-2?"

_"Doc, the fog came like that! Snap! R-8 and I are sticking close like fat on a Torchic, but it's still damn impossible to see! Defog isn't making a dent in this thing!"_

"Fog…? B-2, don't—"

_"Boss!"_

A flash of _something_ crosses Cyrus's stony mask. "Mars?"

_"Mister Cyrus! I think there's something in Foggy Forest! Something big and scary! We can hear footsteps!"_ And sure enough, a low growl leaks from the speakers.

_"The Red Sunstone's a wonderful flashlight, Boss! Don't worry, we'll find a cave… Hope… hide…"_

"Mars? Diamond? Speak!" Cyrus strikes the machine with the back of his hand. Slaps it again. "Work, stupid thing!"

"Cyrus!" Cynthia hisses. "It's just the wind—"

_"Mind your own business."_

Cynthia blanches. Cyrus opens the gear with his fingernails, fiddles with the wires, and shoves it back into his ear. "Mars! Mars, do you copy?"

_"…rus!"_

"Jupiter! Jupiter, come in!"

_"Hail… Forest… Hard…"_

"Jupiter! Where is Miss Berlitz? Is she with you?"

_"…ter Cy… Snow… so…"_

Cyrus drags a violent hand through his hair. "Saturn? Saturn, are you out there? Respond."

_"Master Cyrus!"_

Cyrus's knees buckle. Cynthia starts forward—but freezes for Arceus knows why. When she regains her bearings, Cyrus is on the ground, but he looks otherwise content with inhaling crystal dust.

_"Sorry, Boss. We got stuck in a sandstorm. Pearl and I are—ACK! There's a bug in my mouth!"_

 _"We're heading towards the exit—ugh, just spit that out! No, not on me! That's disgusting!"_ A crackle. _"A-Anyway. There's nothing here. Just quicksand."_

"Quicksand…" Cyrus scowls at a nearby crystal. His reflection's gaze darts to the woman behind him. "What do you make of that, Champion Cynthia?"

Cynthia's head snaps up. "Um. Uh?"

"Quicksand," Cyrus says flatly. "There is quicksand at the end of the dungeon. Here."

_"Is that it then?"_ Rowan is saying. _"Pearl, Saturn, is there something that stands out? A rock formation, a certain indicator of a puzzle?"_

_"Um… no. Just quicksand. As far as the eye can see."_

"There's a secret," Cynthia murmurs. Cyrus lifts a brow. "That's the puzzle!"

_"What puzzle? Where's the hint? I don't see any riddle or key hidden under the cactus, do you? What the heck do you want me to do? There's no way up but down!"_

 _Down…_ That lone word echoes through the adult's minds. Cynthia locks eyes with Cyrus. _What if…_

And by the sounds of things, Pearl had caught the drift. _"Oh no,"_ Saturn says. _"Ohnonono. Are you serious?! Are you seriously suggesting that we should jump in?!"_

A small bickering. Then Saturn groans. _"Fiiiiiiine."_ A silence. _"Boss?"_

"Y-Yes?"

_"Don't tell Jupiter."_

By this point Cynthia is so close to Cyrus that one breath from her lungs creases the collar of his shirt.

_"Pearl? Pearl? Saturn!"_

Crackling. Static. White noise persists even after Cyrus disassembles and reassembles the headpiece. Twice.

_"…wan!"_

"Pearl! Saturn!"

_"…cave! We got… bottom! There's a… om!"_

_"They got through!"_ Rowan huffs. _"They—Boys? Boys! Cynthia, Cyrus, are you still there? We've lost the boy's signal."_

"I think they'll be fine," Cynthia says breathlessly.

_"I know. But what about… Cave… Dark clouds…"_

"Professor Rowan? Professor Rowan!" _Nope._ Just static now. _That storm must've picked up._

Cyrus is glaring at nothing in particular. Then he sighs. He lurches up on his feet and continues into the cave, never sparing a second glance.

* * *

The deeper they go, the more Cynthia's stomach swims to the point of throwing up. To make matters worse, she has to fill her head with possible scenarios just so she won't go crazy.

Crystals reflect a waterfall up ahead. Rivulets coursing through cracks in the dark earth, water glistening like jewels. There's that golden bouquet of crystals— _oh. Is that my face? I look horrible…_

A pebble plops on her scalp. Cynthia barely has time to look up when the ceiling crashes down—instead of sharp boulders fracturing her skull, she finds herself on her ass, gaping at what would've been an unfortunate end.

"Holy fu—Thanks, Cyrus."

Cyrus brushes past before she can glimpse that look on his face.

* * *

"HUGH--!"

"Cyrus!" Cynthia runs to his side. _Holy Arceus._ "Cyrus, let's sit down. Come on."

"I am fine," he snaps. _Stubborn as a Bibarel. Stupid like one too._

"No, you're not! Sit down!"

_"I am FINE—"_

Cynthia catches him before he breaks his nose for the tenth time. _I told you so I TOLD YOU SO!_ She carries him to a boulder and sets him down like the piece of glass that he is.

Cyrus is taking painful, shallow breaths. His face is green, and it's not from the glow of the crystals. Cynthia watches as he slams his fists down on his kneecaps with a nasty self-directed curse. Comforting nothingness is not what he needs right now. Not what anyone needs.

The music of flowing water soothes her aching heart. Relieves the pounding in her coarse ears. Cynthia leans back, skims her hand above the surface of that glassy lake, shuddering as the currents burrow underneath her fingernails.

_What do I say? He's not even in the mood to listen. I don't want to twist that knife, but…_

Cyrus is staring at something. His hand hovers above his chin, as if he's deep in thought. She follows his gaze to the crystals. To the space between the crystals. To the yellow placard labeled **"3"** to the dark stain on the ground amidst cones and police tape—

"All evidence have been confiscated," Cyrus whispers, and she instantly buries her face. "They've interrogated me about the bloodstains… the soiled uniform… All irrelevant questions to the mission at hand."

A small tremor shakes her core. Cyrus shifts his weight to the other leg, the movement opening a cold void behind Cynthia.

"How—" She clears her throat. Swallows her bitter saliva. Ripples scatter within the river, contorting the image of the man beside her. "How did you know it was Crystal Cave?"

A pause. "I didn't." _What?_ Cyrus gently taps the glowing surface of the water. A Remoraid nips at his fingers before swimming away. "Being 100% confident in anything is dangerous… But you were racing against time, so… so that's why."

Cynthia's cheeks are burning. "How… How did you know the way?"

Another pause. "I have—" Cyrus drops his head. "I _had_ a business partner who held a considerable admiration towards soil. And rocks. His best friend was fascinated by the sea… he can tell where civilizations lie from the presence of a body of water."

"They sound like nerds."

"Hm. They're… _passionate_ about what they love."

"So they're supernerds."

"Heh. Perhaps."

Cynthia smiles into her hands. A Buizel paddles down the river. An Absol stops, sniffs the air, and scampers back into the darkness.

And Cyrus stands. Cynthia follows the irregular rhythm of those crutches as they proceed down the blinking crystal path.

* * *

The tunnel is pitch-black, save for the constellations above their heads. Cyrus follows her closely, unaware that Cynthia had grabbed his sleeve. _He's more of a liability than an asset right now, but I won't lose him. Never again._

The mouth opens to blinding light. They're reached the deepest part of the cave: the Crystal Puzzle.

"You know what to do," Cyrus mutters, gaze downcast.

"Y-Yes." The planetarium is decorated like a crime scene. She shakes her head, and she lifts that police tape.

With a sharp electrical surge, the first crystal shimmers an iridescent blue. _Azelf's spirit is as clear as crystal. Willpower precedes action._

The next crystal turns a glistening gold. Cynthia shivers. _Uxie's spirit is as endowed as all the lost treasure in the world. Knowledge is a vast and priceless vault…_

A reflection stares back in that golden crystal—and Cynthia whirls around. No one. No Bertha, Flint, Lucian, nor Aaron. No one but her and Cyrus in this antechamber. Cynthia hugs her arms tightly until her breathing returns to normal.

And she sees it. A trail of blood, marked by police tape. Juicy, dried droplets of blood leading to his feet.

Cyrus is standing before the final crystal, the one whose color glints a sordid yellow. His hand hovers over that splatter of dark red… but he simply turns away.

_Did his reflection just_ snarl _at me…?_

Cyrus sighs. He tries again, raising a hand to the rock. **_TING!_** Blue. **_TING!_** Green. **_TING!_** Red. With each touch his shadow ripples, one step closer to taking a life of its own.

He catches her staring, and he quietly steps back.

_Mesprit's spirit is as fragile as the human heart. Emotions are volatile, yet fleeting. Beautiful and flawed._

 _**TING!**_ The passageway rises from the ground. Cyrus marches on, and Cynthia risks one last glance behind her before following him to what lies ahead.

* * *

The wind is howling—no. That's just her. That's just the blood roaring in her ears.

Crystal Lake sprawls before them: a pristine, perfect wonderland. Crystal-clear water stir on both sides of the walkway, distorting faces and warping reality.

Cyrus stops. He surveys the empty lake. One tap of the crutch echoes like the drum of war.

"The Time Gear." Cynthia points to the unearthly green glow. Another tremor shakes the lake. "Let's hurry, Cyrus."

Cyrus is still looking around. _What is he searching for?_ "Cyrus," Cynthia says gently and with a slight nudge. "The Time Gear is _this_ way."

"I know."

Cynthia lets him by, staring after his retreating back as he climbs the crystal pedestal. A minute passes. Two minutes before he turns with the oddest expression on his face.

She'd seen this expression before. The complete lack of emotion… it was back when--

"W-What? Is there someone behind me?" _Nope._ "Cyrus, hurry up. Let's go."

Cyrus tilts his head. Those frosty eyes never leave her soul.

"C-Cyrus?" _Cold. Why is it so cold?_ "Cyrus, you're creeping me out. C-Come on." _Why is he suddenly so far away?_

Cyrus unclasps his arm sling. He flexes his right arm, face perfectly blank as the limb spasms with the abrupt movement. Cynthia's breath hitches when he tosses that cast to the side. Those crutches fall to the ground, which he also kicks out of sight.

"Cyrus!"

_"…rus! Cyrus! We'e located the Time Gear! Mystifying Forest is as good as Gala—"_

Cyrus plucks the headpiece from his ear. It slips through his fingers—and is crushed by an unforgiving heel.

**"Pyoo…"**

"CYRUS! What the _fuck_ are you doing?!"

_"…oss! The… Desert… got the—"_

 ** _BAM!_** The headpiece shatters into a million irreversible pieces.

Red blossoms bursts into Cynthia's eyeballs. "Cyrus!" she screeches. "CYRUS, THIS ISN'T FUNNY—"

"Icy wind."

A gust of chilled air knocks Cynthia off her feet. When the dancing dots go away, Cynthia opens her eyes to see a razor-sharp claw aimed at her throat.

Battle instincts take over. "Spiritomb, Ominous Wind!"

Weavile braces itself for the gales of darkness. Writhing humanoid faces swipe at its body, and the cat flinches. Spritiomb sneers—and blasts Weavile in the chest with a Dark Pulse.

"Your Spiritomb is a fine Pokemon." There's nothing in his voice. "A dual-type Pokemon, part Ghost-Type and part Dark-Type, with no specific weakness, a good defense, and a good special defense too. It's a tough Pokemon to beat.

"In times like this… one may disregard the Type of the opposing Pokemon… and simply deploy the strongest attack at one's disposal."

Spiritomb freezes. With a horrible shriek, its body shoots back into the frozen Odd Keystone.

 _What did he…_ "CYRUS!" Cynthia barks. "This is no time for a Pokemon battle! We need the Time Gear—" Weavile's claws almost scratch out her larynx if not for Roserade's emergency thorns.

"Ice Beam."

"Cyrus, Weavile is badly poisoned!" That Ice attack hits Roserade square in the chest. Weavile's faring no better, as in crumbles to its knees. "Weavile, stop this! You don't need to do this!"

That look on the Pokemon's face stops her cold. It looks… confused. So very confused.

"Ice Punch."

"Cyrus, stop! You have to treat its wounds—"

"Weavile! Avalanche, _now!"_

The Pokemon slowly pulls itself up. It opens its mouth… and collapses.

**"Pyooooo…!"**

"Cy—"

Gyarados's roar yanks the hairs off her head. Cynthia immediately deploys Milotic to counter that rampaging Hydro Pump. Torrents of water explode over Crystal Lake's pristine surface, prompting a steady shower within cavern walls.

 _What is **wrong** with him? Why can't he listen to reason?! _Cynthia slices her hand through the simmering air. "Milotic, Dragon Pulse—"

"EEEEYAAA!" Cynthia dives as Milotic's body sails above her head. **_BAAAM!_** Gyarados's nostrils are flaring, but… but it looks very lost.

"Giga Impact."

Gyrados scowls. "RAAAH?"

"Giga. Impact. _Now."_

Like the sting of a whip, Gyarados's body lurches into motion. Its speed is unbelievable—ramming into the already battered Milotic like a spear of lightning. The cavern ceiling groans, shedding decent-sized stalactites into the churning lake.

**"Pyooooooo!"**

_Cyrus just won't listen to reason!_ Cynthia calls her next Pokemon. _Jupiter was right. It's up to me to knock some sense back into that thick skull._

"Lucario, Swords Dance! Then Stone Edge!"

Lucario thrusts a sharpened flint into the tender area of Gyarados's body. The serpent howls, but Lucario is already on its next move, calling down an avalanche of large boulders to bury the serpent into ruin.

"Give up, Cyrus! Move away from that Time Gear!"

Cyrus snickers. He points to the ceiling. Cynthia stupidly looks up to see a wave of Psychic energy smash into Lucario's face. The latter aims a Close Combat at Honchkrow—and ends up jabbing itself in the eyes.

"No! Lucario!" Cynthia rushes to cradle the unconscious Pokemon into her arms. She gnashes her teeth. "Cyrus…" Once again, red flowers are gnawing at her eyeballs. She hears that laugh again, a _repulsive_ sound that makes her flesh _crawl_. "That is IT, Cyrus! You want to play rough? I'll take that Time Gear by _force!_

"Togekiss, Air Slash!"

"Pryeeeh?"

"Do it, Togekiss! Knock down his Honchkrow!"

As Cynthia yells, a voice creeps into the back of her skull. _"Yes… do it, Cynthia."_ A voice so warm and familiar and poisonous, one that fills her heart with determination.

Honchkrow settles down. It barks something to the Jubilee Pokemon, who gasps and swivels back. "Attack!" Cynthia snaps. But no, Togekiss seems to be telling her something.

_Have its eyes ever looked so… sad?_

_Is someone crying? Wait. What am I doing? No no no this is all wrong! I'm supposed to protect him! I'm supposed to…_

"Hehehehe." That snicker shreds down her spine. Cyrus's fingers brush upon the royal glow of the Time Gear, and her heart reacts by squirting hot blood to every part of her body. Her throat burns, as also her desire to k—

 _"NO!"_ Togekiss appears to scream. _"No, Cynthia! Fight her! Don't let her—"_

"Keep your filthy paws off that Time Gear, criminal!" That voice isn't hers. It's a powerful voice, one of pure, unfiltered, power. Her arm moves on its own, and when the world stops spinning, Honchkrow is but a broken bird.

**"PyoooooooaaaaAAA!"**

Togekiss immediately drops its bristling wings to hurry to the crow's side. The Pokemon that once brought happiness is now glaring at its Trainer with horror.

_It's crying. Togekiss is crying. Someone is crying. No, not just one. What am I doing? Nonono—_

_"Shh." It's her. A face like my own, but the perfect version. A hand like my own, but at the same time is not. A presence as majestic as the moon. "You're doing the right thing, Cynthia. Look at him. Not even a threat."_

_Why are you here?_

_"To help you, of course."_ Cynthia's skin burns at that touch. _"You know what to do next, right?"_

"Yes." Cynthia recalls Togekiss, unaware of the bird's protests. Garchomp appears in a flash of red. _Red. Why is everything red?_

Cyrus surveys the area one more time before setting his dazed gaze back to the glowering woman. "Do you know," he says cheerfully, "how wonderfully _fragile_ a Time Gear is? The world is beyond saving, anyhow." He inches closer to the hallowed relic. "Enough pretending. Enough games. Let me see your spirit burn… _before I snuff it out."_

"The only thing that will burn is your _soul!" Whose voice is that?_ "Garchomp, Draco Meteor!"

"GRAH?!"

"GARCHOMP!" The land dragon cowers at her shadow. "Draco Meteor. _NOW!"_

As if yanked by indivisible strings, Garchomp unleashes a grisly, grief-stricken howl. The ceiling rattles. The sky breaks apart, dropping giant, scorching crystalline meteors to the lake below.

 ** _BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!_** Water swells into tidal waves. Smoke scalds her nostrils. When the earth stops shaking, Crystal Lake has been reduced to a site of carnage.

"Tch. He's still alive. You should've silenced that Crobat when you had the chance."

Cyrus is indeed alive. And unharmed. The same can't be said for the Crobat in his arms. He stares at the bat for the longest time as his shoulders begin to tremble.

"Hehehehahaha!" Cyrus throws his head back in a horrifying, deranged laugh. "What an incredible attack! What a strong Pokemon, hahahahaha! Unlike these useless, BROKEN things! Useless! USELESS! USELESS!!!"

**"PYOOOOOOOO! PYOOOOOO!"**

"Heheheeee… And do you _know_ what happens to broken things? Things that CAN'T be FIXED?! _Observe!"_ Cyrus brings out his Poke Balls like he's showing all the contents of his pockets. With another high-pitch giggle, he chucks the capsules into the lake.

**"PYOOOOOOOAAAAAAA!"**

"Good. Give up your Pokemon. They deserve better than a crazy _freak_ like you anyway."

Something cracks. That cry splits the heavens, uprooting veins to strike directly into hearts.

**"PYAAAAAAAA!"**

Mesprit's golden eyes are bulging out of its sockets. It's clutching at his chest, body thrashing about as it screams in unintelligible hysterics.

_It could've been pulling its heart out._

**"PYAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAAA!"**

Solid arms catch Cynthia before she falls. The Hero of Sinnoh smiles back, her serene face beaming with cold pride.

"What is he doing?!" _What? That voice…_ Cynthia turns to see Shirona indicating to the distance. To Mesprit. To—

Cyrus stumbles forward, arms trembling and outstretched… brushing past the Time Gear without a second glance. "You're here at last," he croaks. Mesprit lowers its head, a shining tear trailing down its cheek, dripping to his head. "It's time to end this once and for all."


	40. A Grieving Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last chance to save that precious something.

_At last. Now everything will not have been for naught._

 _"Can you not heart them?"_ Reflected in Mesprit's golden gaze is the most pitiful, **pathetic** thing he had ever seen. _"Do their cries not reach your grieving heart?"_

"I've nothing to grieve about," Cyrus snaps back. That wretched abomination in his chest wavers ever so slightly. "I have no regrets! I have _nothing_ to apologize for!"

_"Such false bravado… Dear child, how far will you fall to make your dream come true?"_

"Do not call me a child"

_"Were you ever a child, little boy?"_ Those words explode in his face. _"I heard them, child_. _"How could you play with their hearts like that? How could you toy with their emotions without seeing their pain…?"_

Cyrus strikes his hand across the air. "I never saw them as companions! There were simply means of summoning _you,_ Mesprit! I've no need of broken tools!"

_"Your heart weeps a different story, child."_

"NO! Enough of your lies!" Then his should droop. "Mesprit, please… I've waited so long just to see you again. Remember what you told me?" 

The Guardian stares at his trembling hand. The sheer volume of sorrow within those tears almost makes his blacks out. _"Do you understand the consequences of your wish? You've heard the myths surrounding my curse. If I touch you, your future will cease to be."_

"I don't care about my future!" Those words escape in a desperate scream. "I'm so close! So close to finally doing something _right_ for once!"

Then his knees give away. Cyrus falls on his chin, teeth clamping on his tongue in the process. _Useless._ He hacks the blood into his sleeve.

_"One cannot have joy without sorrow, Cyrus. That is what it means to live."_

The lake suddenly explodes into light—a dazzling glow that sends him flying. When color returns to the world, he's gaping at the tips of black heels. Lifting his head greets him with a radiance even brighter than the moon.

"C-Champion Cynthia?" Cyrus croaks. For some reason, his lungs react violently to her presence. He has to gulp down breaths just to control the trembling.

_"Look again, child."_ He tries to turn, but his neck muscles have frozen in place. _"You summoned her through your thoughtless provocation. Here in Crystal Cave, one's spirit can take on a life of its own."_

 _So that's… her spirit?_ A being that resembles the Champion, yet Cyrus feels a bloodlust radiating from her cold, golden eyes. He can't look at her directly, lest he risks scorching his retinas.

The Hero's lips twist, and his stomach hardens. "Are you just going to gawk at me all day, criminal? Can you even run away?"

Cyrus scrambles to his feet—tries to anyway, only for his kneecaps to give. Again. A hand yanks his wrist, the one that has yet to heal.

"Looking for your Pokemon?" says the Hero of Sinnoh. "You threw them away, remember?" She dangles him above a particularly deep drop of the lake. "Don't worry. You'll join them very soon."

"C…Champion Cynthia." _You're going to break it._ "Please…"

"So even an emotionless machine like you feels pain, hmm?" She squeezes his bones, and somewhere in the cavern resounds an unsettling **_CRACK._** "Don't faint on me yet. You and I still have unfinished business."

The next thing Cyrus knows, he's lying in a heap under some rubble. Something flickers in the extremities of his vision. _That's…!_

She wretches the crutches from his grip. "You don't need these anymore, remember?" He can only watch as the fruits of his labor snap in half. In thirds. Fourths before the remnants are smashed under her heel.

"What do you want from me?" Cyrus instinctively shields himself. _She won't be satisfied until I…_ "I won't stop you from obtaining the Time Gear. I won't interfere with your obligations!"

"True, but crime still needs to pay." This time, the Hero grabs his hair. "Do enlighten me. Was all that uproar a ludicrous attempt to summon Mesprit? For what? Did you seriously expect me to believe you could understand its thoughts?"

She rams his head into the ground. "Well? I know you can talk, coward!"

Cyrus painfully swallows back a surge of blood. "You… You're not Champion Cynthia! Where is she? What did you do to her?!" 

What comes next is the cruelest sneer that traps him in place. "You really _do_ live in your own little world." She pats his head, the force almost breaking his neck. "I assure you though, it's still me."

The Hero dashes him across the ground as one would to a rag doll. Cold droplets fall on his head. Cold, burning rain.

"M--Mesprit…" Cyrus coughs. The Pokemon turns away. "Mesprit, please! Please help me!"

The Guardian of the Lake evades his flailing hand. _"If you still believe in your convictions, then come find me. Once you do, I will grant your wish."_ Its tails skim above the crystalline waters. _"I shall be waiting in the place where I last awaited you."_

"NO!" Cyrus summons every morsel of strength just to sit up. "I've waited too long to have this denied to me! You promised! You promised you wouldn't leave me!" The Pokemon stiffens. With one final shake of the head, it flees into the darkness. "Mesprit, wait! MESPRIT!!"

Then he's yelling to an empty lake. A numbness washes down his body, and he slumps back to the ground.

_I've failed. Mesprit abandoned me._

The Hero hauls Cyrus up by his collar. "What's wrong with you _now?"_ She gives him a good shake. "Empty. If you want to be useful, then sit quietly until the authorities arrive."

 _"Not yet, Cyrus,"_ rasps a metallic, familiar voice. _"You mustn't give up yet."_

"There we go. Now, just put your hands behind your back—"

Cyrus burrows his teeth into the Hero's wrist. Bitter, damp liquid floods into his mouth once he breaks skin.

"YOU! IMPUDENT FREAK!" The spirit rips him away, nearly fracturing his jaw in the process. She throws him on the ground. Picks him up and hurls him down again.

_So_ this _must be how the Pokemon felt._ Although he had lost feeling in his limbs, there's not a damn thing to regret.

A blunt object strikes his ribs, sending him tumbling over the ledge. It's quite a ways down, so what he does hit the water, it's like a 60-storey drop onto hard concrete.

**_SPLASH!_** It's much darker down here, despite what the opaque surface seemed to convey. The flow of bubbles transitions from a constant stream to on-and-off bursts as he sinks into the abyss.

_Oh well. Maybe I can apologize to them in the next life._ Cyrus shuts his eyes. _By the time they find my body, my survival rate will be approximately 20%... but Detective Looker will waste resources to resuscitate me, no doubt. And after that…_

A strangled laugh escapes his throat, ushering frigid water up his brain. _Life imprisonment or execution, pick your poison!_

"Calm down, Cyrus." Solid, shifting masses envelope him in a chilling embrace. Cyrus wraps his arms around the dark spirit's neck, careful as to not trample on the leash. "Hold tight," says the Villain of Sinnoh. "We'll find Mesprit."

* * *

The bubbles finally stop.

"You're not free to go yet," the Hero of Sinnoh announces to the silent waves. "I'll be back."

The Time Gear is pulsating in its chambers. She holds her wrist to her lips, and with a gentle blow, the wound closes itself with a release of steam.

_"…rus!"_

The Hero freezes. "Don't you dare."

_"What did you do to Cyrus?!"_

"No! Stay back, Cy—" 

Hands shoves the Hero away. Shoves her away from the Time Gear.

"Cynthia!" growls the Hero. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"Heroes don't hurt those we're supposed to protect!" the woman barks back. "You've overstepped your boundaries!"

"But did you see what he did, Cynthia? He abused his Pokemon, then threw them away! Stop associating yourself with that psychopath!"

"Don't call him that--!"

The Hero abruptly yanks Cynthia back. **_Plip. Plip._** Bubbles are fizzling into view. A long, winding shape unravels to the surface: a Red Chain, connected to a neck, which connects to a head…

"Shh." There's something in the Hero's eyes that shouldn't be there. A certain grimness, a flicker of trepidation across beautiful, snowy features.

"The Hero of Sinnoh." A voice like scraping brambles. Through layers of burns and blood, Cynthia can still make out the muted blue of his eye.

"I didn't think you'd be here, Villain."

"It has indeed been a while." That smile again, one so grotesquely familiar. _Were his teeth always that sharp?_ "Why have you not taken the Time Gear yet? Go on. I'll be right here where you can see me."

"Cyrus," Cynthia whispers. "Cyrus, what happened to you?"

That clouded gaze darts to her voice. "Champion…? When did you…" He squints, tilting his head in a precarious 90° angle. "You're here to interfere with my plans again it seems." 

"Hold it right there, Villain!" The Hero lobs a volley of light in his direction. The beams would've sliced his head right off if his wing hadn't intercepted. The other wing rises to his side, unfurling to well beyond the average length of a human being.

The Villain shoots to the skies with a cacophony of rattling chains. Despite the restraints wrapped tightly around his body, he's evading the Hero's long-distance attacks with the agility of a Staraptor.

"Cyrus!" Cynthia yells. _That's him! Hanging onto the Villain's neck!_

When gazes meet, it's the strange sensation of actually seeing him for the first time. "Champion Cynthia?" Cyrus murmurs. He would've fallen if not for the Red Chain around his waist. "You… You're back…"

_Other than the bruises, the blood around his mouth and his overall battered state, Cyrus is still alive!_ "Yeah, it's me!" she exclaims, waving her hands. "Let's hurry and get out here!"

The Villain clenches his fangs, and Cyrus's expression darkens. "I'm sorry," the latter says. "But I've enough of your interference."

Cynthia's smile slips. "What… Cyrus, what craziness are you sprouting now? Come on, everyone's waiting for us at Spear Pillar!"

"He's made his decision," the Villain growls. "You know nothing, Champion Cynthia—"

A lance forged from purest light cleaves a good portion of the Villain's wing. Two more projectiles impale into each appendage, pinning him to the ceiling of the cave.

"Don't look down," the dark spirit murmurs. Cyrus jerks his head away. A great tearing sound erupts from above. **_Riiiiiiiip!_** Then they're plummeting down to earth with blood gushing freely from the Villain's back.

"It's not as bad as it looks," the latter says. Cyrus knows better, but before he can protest, he's thrown to the other side of the lake, to solid ground. **_SPLASH!_** The Villain collides into the lake with the force of an impacting meteor, prompting a brief shower to fall within cavern walls.

"No!" Cyrus fumbles to the ledge. "It can't end like this! Please answer me!"

Two cold hands grasp his arm, palms much smaller than his own. Turning back reveals a familiar yet foreign face.

"Hurry, Mister!" The spirit shouts. "I can take you to Mesprit!"

"But…"

"He'll be okay! He told me so!" The boy drapes Cyrus's body over his frail back. _He thinks he can handle this all by himself? What brash audacity…_ Nevertheless, the man rests his chin against the child's shoulders.

"Thank you."

Akagi freezes. "I-It's nothing. I just… I won't disappoint you—" A golden arrow nicks the boy's leg. And yet, he's stills standing upright. Cyrus can make out strings of "I will be useful" chanted over and over like a mantra.

From the other side of the lake, the Hero prepares another volley of arrows. "Wait!" Cynthia catches her arm. "I'll go after him! You can stay here and keep the Time Gear safe!"

"Tch. Fine, but be careful. That dastardly Villain's lurking about somewhere…"

Taking those words of advice, Cynthia kicks away her heels. She gingerly hops around the puddles of blood, especially that concerning one leaking from decapitated wings from the ceiling. The waters are still translucent, though, as if the whole battle never happened.

"Cynthia, watch out!"

Darkness slices the air in two. Fortunately, that attack only severed a few strands of hair. The Hero skids on the surface of the water, summoning a tempest of luminescence down with the intensity of a super-charged Draco Meteor.

**"GROOOAAAH!"**

"Where did you vanish off too… There!" The Villain bursts from the lake. Those wings unfurl like a flower of darkness, one protected by bleeding thorns. The Hero snatches that dangling Red Chain and with a mighty tug, the Villain slams into her waiting knee.

"Go! I'll take care of this!" She brandishes that leash, sending him crashing into a faraway wall. Cynthia takes that moment to covertly slip away.

_Cyrus, Cyrus… where did you go?_

A figure is waiting on the other side. "Cynthia!" A small hand hauls the woman up. Shirona's amber eyes glimmer like the stars of Sunyshore, stars from all those nights ago. "We need to hurry before it's too late!"

* * *

"Don't push yourself too hard."

"No…" The boy jerks his head to the side. "I'm okay. I'm… okay…"

Cyrus rolls off the child's back. Sure enough, the latter instantly kneels over. When the boy regains consciousness, he's rocking gently on the man's shoulders. It's a slow, arduous crawl, especially with extra baggage… but it's not impossible.

"Don't apologize," Cyrus grunts. His palm is throbbing. Upon closer inspection, there's a decent chunk of glass in his skin.

They resume the trek in silence.

"I'm scared," whispers the boy. Cyrus's heart thuds dully in his rib cage. "Aren't you scared too?"

"Have you eaten?" 

"You didn't answer my question."

Cyrus keeps his gaze straight ahead. "It doesn't concern you."

"Yes it does! You are obsessed on an ending that will benefit no one!"

"You are in no position to chide me!" Cyrus hisses. The boy scowls. "I am not a child you can mold with mere words! If you want to be useful, then sit there and shut up!"

And he immediately slaps himself. "N-No, I didn't… Stop. I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to…" _Great. I just_ love _making people cry._

So Cyrus tries again. "I never said I won't be coming back. My original intention was to seek Mesprit, take the Time Gear, and rejoin them on Spear Pillar. I still plan to accept the consequences of my actions, but _after_ I finally rid myself of this accursed thing called spirit." He glances back. "It's better than going crazy in a cell… at least the sentence will be more bearable if I couldn't feel at all.

"It's by no means a quick demise," Cyrus continues softly. "Ancient tales describe the process as poison coursing through the body… and within three short days, all emotion will drain away."

The boy is staring with wide, fearful eyes. "We…" Barely above a whimper. "We can still turn back…"

That statement strikes the man as extremely comical, for some absurd reason. He even barks a laugh, although it's unclear what's so funny about this situation.

* * *

Back at Crystal Lake, the spirit of light had just finished pummeling her villainous counterpart with a barrage of meteors. _As long as I control the Red Chain, I can keep this six-winged monster at bay._

**"Grr…"**

"Have you lost your ability to speak like a human?" She dashes him across the lake.

**"Graaah… GROOOAAAH!"**

"Hmm? Oh, you want your leash back? Let me tighten that for you—"

A sudden pain erupts in her palm. That Red Chain clamps itself into her wrist, pushing down until it breaks skin. It digs deeper and deeper into her bloodstream, ultimately grafting itself into her blood.

**"You truly are despicable."**

The Villain yanks his head, jerking the Hero forward. "Incidentally, Hero, do you understand the concept of genes?"

"What did you do to me?!"

"Genes are the blueprints of all life-forms, including both human and Pokemon." The Villain gives a bloody smile. "Genes are contained in a DNA strand, and a DNA strand consists of two chains of opposing characteristics in a spiral." He shakily pulls himself up. "If one of the chains were to be broken, the other could replicate it. One or the other cannot exist without its opposite."

"Shut up!"

The Villain smirks. His gait consists of a stumbling, swaying motion. "A heart is composed of two halves: light and darkness. Do you understand where I am going with this? The two parts must be balancing each other to remain in existence. Without light, darkness cannot exist… and without darkness, there cannot be light.

"Hero of Sinnoh, when you sit upon your throne, how far does your shadow cast?"

The Hero responds by spitting in his face—and a subsequent burn sparks in her cheekbones. She plunges a gleaming dagger into his neck, but to her immense surprise, _she's_ the one that ends up seeing stars.

"W-What kind of curse is this?!" The Hero slashes his chest—and sure enough, _she's_ the one gasping from the indescribable agony that followed.

"You've brought it on yourself," is the simple reply. "Are you done recovering? I would like to show you something."

_"Do I even have a choice?"_

"You did."

The Villain rams his skull into a crystal, and the Hero shrieks. He does it again, and her brain sloshes to her ears.

"Worry not." His throat is choked with blood. "Your image has not been defiled." The Hero instantly feels her face. _He's right!_ Not a scratch nor injury on her skin, other than that parasite in her wrist.

The same can't be said about him, however. He simply smiles at her horrified expression. One black tendril hovers above his chest, the red pike tapping to the area above his heart.

"Ready?"

"NOOO _AAAAAAHHH!"_ For a horrifying second, she couldn't breathe. The Hero doubles over, arms wrapped around her chest. She's gasping for air as if he'd just repeatedly dunked her head underwater.

"S-Stop…AAAAAAH!" She's choking on an unseen fluid. Eyes bulging, lungs burning, the Hero of Sinnoh barely manages to raise her head to match her counterpart's unreadable gaze.

"Doesn't it hurt…?"

The Villain halts his self-directed attacks. He's staring at her now, seemingly oblivious to the thick, clumpy mess on the tips of his wings. "Ah. Well. Monsters only pretend to bleed red to fit in." His split lips tug. "They can't… feel pain. They don't… have hearts, after all, unlike the rest of your kind."

Then he swivels around. He's glaring at the direction Cynthia had just left not too long ago. "I'm almost done," the dark spirit mutters. Out loud, he says, "My Hero, our time together is coming to an end. Have you been keeping well?"

For some strange reason, that statement casts a chill over her heart. "I… I thought you said light and darkness can't exist without the other."

The Villain frowns. "Us spirits… I apologize, _evil spirits_ like me shouldn't exist in the physical realm in the first place." He utters a quiet, sad chuckle. " _However,_ if you unravel the DNA strand, you can separate darkness and light, therefore severing their dependence to each other. In other words, even if I die, there will always be new villains for you to best.

"Ah, and speaking of which, may I borrow a bit more of your time?" She suddenly can't look at him. "Back then… before these wings were put on me, I used to wake up early just to nab an issue of the Sinnoh Times. Why? Because your career had just begun, Hero of Sinnoh. Every evening at six, I rushed to the electronics store so I can watch you earn your next Gym Badge. I, along with your growing fan base, watched as you triumphed over the previous Champion in a match that was decided long before the doors even opened."

The Villain casts his glance aside. "You were a hero before they gave you your title. The things you've done for others… You have no idea how much… how much…" Those words trail to an unintelligent whisper.

"But you let it all go to your head. Some days, I couldn't recognize you at all. Our last visit to Crystal Cave, especially…" Those wings are curling inwards. "I… feared you, Hero. You hated me with all your heart, so it made sense I reciprocated your feelings. After all, it's… much easier… to hate… than…"

With that, he collapses. With his fall, the Red Chain snaps from her wrist.

_Finally._ With a quick kiss, the skin heals instantly. The Hero dusts off her coat. _Stupid Destiny Bond. Should've known he had tricks up his sleeves._ "I'm going," she barks. "Don't try to stop me."

The waters around his body are still opaque, despite the presence of blossoming crimson flowers.

"Hey." Those black letters on his uniform had long lost its legibility. Out of sheer morbid curiosity she brushes aside a patch of soaked fabric, revealing the sloppy stitches that connected wing to flesh.

"The joke's gotten old," the spirit mumbles. "I know you can hear me. Get up."

Silence.

"Villain!" She grabs his shoulders, only for her hands to pass right through. His body is flickering before her eyes, blinking in-and-out of focus like a dying star.

"VILLAIN!" She rolls him over. _Holy Arceus._ That eye is still open. She grasps his face, wincing at the sensation of warm, gooey liquid. "It's not funny anymore! Wake up! WAKE UP!"

At some point she might've called his name. His _true_ name, with all its meanings and implications.

* * *

_"You… made it."_

Cyrus nods numbly. The crystals in this throne room are much, much brighter than those in the antechamber puzzle. _Now, if only everything would stop spinning._

"Where is he?" The boy sounds… muffled. _Are you all right?_ "He promised… he said he'd come…"

Cyrus presses an ear against the ground. Nothing. _Chains aren't very discrete, and in his condition… Still, it's been far too long._

Akagi starts when Cyrus laughs. "He'd served his purpose dutifully," the latter says. "I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did."

Then Cyrus turns to the boy. "And you…" The latter begins to run when a gentle hand squeezes his small shoulders. "Thank you for everything. You're free to go now."

The boy gapes. "Go," Cyrus repeats. "Don't… look at me like that. Go home."

"No!" Akagi runs to the middle, to the pathetic divide between Cyrus and Mesprit. "I can't let you throw away your life for the second time!"

"You're trembling." _What can you even do?_

"N-No, I'm n-not! I'll stop you by force!"

Cyrus ruffles the child's hair. "Give Grandfather my warmest regards." And with that, the spirit shatters into a million glistening stars.

 ** _Plip. Plip._** A quiet rain falls over broken shards. _"You are alone now, child."_

"Nothing new." 

_"Where is your Red Sunstone? Did you throw that away as well?"_

"You promised, Mesprit."

Mesprit clamps its mouth. Then it sighs. _"Yes, I did."_ With a wave of its tail, the way out is closed with crystals.

 _"Now then."_ The Guardian extends its arms. _Why are you still crying?_ The light grows colder. _"Let us finish what we started."_

 _Yes... I came too far to give up now._ Cyrus closes his eyes. **_B-DMP. B-DMP…_** A distorted melody of a heart thrashing against his ears. It brings about the sensations of seasickness, hypothermia, and a raging fever all at once.

 ** _B-DMP… B-DMP…_** His chest contracts horribly. _It's hurting again… **B-DMP.** Why now…? _

_"Sleep now, Cyrus."_ A blanket above his head, soothing and warm, smothering and suffocating. _"A world without spirit awaits your awakening."_

* * *

"NO!"

Cyrus jolts from his reverie. He stares at his trembling knees. Stares at the wide-eyed Mesprit whose hands hover just a phantom length above his forehead.

"Cyrus!" Someone's pounding the crystal blockade. Rays of sunlight peek through the cracks. "Don't touch Mesprit!"

A head pokes through the bars. "Cyrus!" the little girl cries. "Cynthia, he's okay!"

The wall shudders. **_BAM! BAM!_** Cynthia wedges her hand through a slit. "Cyrus!" How she calls his name… sends a sickening squeeze to his exhausted heart.

"Go away." There's nothing left in his voice.

"Cyrus, listen! I... I don't understand why you felt compelled to do this, but I get it! You deserved better, Cyrus! You deserved all the happiness and love as anyone else!

"I wish I can go back in time, I really do. I could've helped you… We could've been Pokemon Trainers, Cyrus! The two of us… exploring Sinnoh together. Who knows, _you_ could've been the Champion instead! We… We could've been rivals."

Cyrus sniffs. "That's how you justify spirit as something worthwhile? You're right, Champion, you _don't_ understand at all. That future you proposed… is the product of a delusion called hope, one that inevitably ended before it even began."

He hugs his torso. "The emotions inside me… Rage, hatred, frustration… hurt. These ugly emotions arise because of my own incomplete spirit. Such imperfections defile the pristine order of the universe that heroes like you fight to protect."

Cyrus glances over his shoulder, offering Cynthia a faint smile. "Do you know how to fix broken tools? You throw them away for something that works. You see, once I kill off my spirit, I will finally be strong. No more running, no more hiding… No more interference from these needless attachments."

"No," Cynthia whispers. "No, that's… What about _them,_ Cyrus? Your team? _Your family?"_

"I'm not oblivious to their feelings, Champion Cynthia." He sighs. "You weren't there, but… They did fine without me. With Professor Rowan's help, they can rebuild their futures."

Cynthia tells Shirona to step aside before throwing her weight on the wall. A few chunks crumble, but the structure remains otherwise intact.

**"Pyooo…"**

A sharp tingle pricks her neck. Cynthia turns to find a glassy-eyed Hero of Sinnoh with blood all over her once flawless features. "He's gone," she mutters. "I-It happened so fast…"

"Please leave me alone," Cyrus says. Cynthia responds by bashing the barrier. The Hero saunters forward with her own weapons of light.

 ** _BAM!_** The cage utters a horrible groan. **_BAM BAM!_**

"Time and time again I pushed you away," Cyrus murmurs. "Why do you keep coming back? Haven't you tormented me enough…?"

Gazes happen to meet. "I'm your friend, Cyrus," Cynthia states with all the conviction in the world. "You can ask me again and again, and my answer will never change."

Silence from the other side. Cynthia borrows the Hero's mallet and strikes until there's a decent window-sized opening.

_"Am I really that important to you?"_

Cynthia stops cold. Cyrus has his back to her, but his shoulders are quavering with the force of a small earthquake.

"You're more important in ways you'll never know, Cyrus." Cynthia swallows back the soreness in her throat. "For a lot of people, not just me. _You_ matter. Just you is enough."

"Damn walls won't break," grunts the spirit. "Something is preventing us from tearing it down completely."

"We have to keep trying!" Shirona huffs.

Something flickers in Cynthia's peripheral vision. Two balls of light, one big, one small, treading silently across the air like lost stars.

The Hero gasps. "You're still here!" Shirona exclaims. The smaller star passes through her hands, but it lingers above her nose for just a brief second more. Those sparks slip into the crevice, settling before Cyrus's unblinking eyes.

 ** _CRACK!_** A glaring crack divides the barrier. **_CRACK! CRACK!_** Cynthia happens to sneeze, and it disintegrates into dust.

_There he is._ But Cynthia knows better than to charge in recklessly. Instead, she produces the necessary item from her coat and sets it down.

Cyrus blanches at the sight of his discarded arm cast. He stares at the writing on the coarse fabric: the well wishes, messages of recovery and even that stupid drawing B-2 had made. 

Cynthia unwraps the cast, and he flinches. There, nestled within the cloth are four red-and-white capsules. "P-Poke Balls float." She bites her lips. "I had a Potion on me. T-They'll be okay, Cyrus."

Cyrus makes a small whimpering sound. He whirls back to Mesprit, who's watching him carefully. He turns back to Cynthia, to her benevolent smile.

Weavile appears in a flash of red. It screeches when it sees him. It even sinks its fangs into his outstretched wrist. He moves to the serpent next, but Gyarados knocks him aside with a powerful swing of its tail. An exasperated Honchkrow dashes a bristling wing across his eyes when he tries to touch it.

Crobat refuses to look at him. Cyrus holds up a bleeding hand, hesitates, and brings it back down. "Thank Arceus," he mutters. "You're all safe…"

Mesprit retracts its arms. **_Plick. Plick. Plick._** Somewhere within the confines of this room falls a gentle rain.

Cyrus smashes his forehead on the earth. "I'm so sorry. I-I'm a horrible Trainer, much less a human being. I let my greed blind me from your pain…" He fumbles for a Poke Ball. "Y-You deserve b-better than me. I hereby release you from your cap—"

Gyarados slaps his hand. Weavile grabs his hair, forcing the man up to the Pokemons' livid glares. Honchkrow strikes his cheek again. Crobat screams into his face, but Cyrus listens intently. The bat yanks a handful of collar… and throws itself into his chest.

The rest of his team squeeze themselves into his tight embrace.

"Pyoo." Whatever Mesprit said, Cyrus chokes back a ragged inhale.

"Cyrus?" The Pokemon part for Cynthia's approach. _Calm down. Remember to breathe._ The distance between them is almost nonexistent now. "C-Cyrus. I'm not going to hurt you." He keeps his head bowed. Cynthia glances back, where the Hero and Shirona are waiting. She kneels and ever so gently touches his back.

"S-Sorry!" Cynthia cries when he recoils vehemently. "Sorry! Um… sorry, I should've known better…"

A timid hand grasps her finger, and Cyrus immediately jerks away. Cynthia blindly lunges forward. The next she knows, she's listening to the fragmented song of his grieving heart.

"Cyrus!" _He's so cold… Arceus is he so cold._ She squeezes his torso… and he squeezes back, to her delightful astonishment. 

**_Plip. Plip. Plip._** A warm puddle accumulates on her bosom. "I can wash it," she says, running a hand through the dusty, silky strands of blue hair. _The scar's beginning to heal._ "No, I don't mind. Let it all out, Cyrus. I-I'll cry with you, if that'll m-m-make you feel better."

Cyrus nods.

* * *

Mesprit had been so silent Cynthia forgot it was even there.

_"When emotion awakens, joy and sorrow coexist."_ The Guardian steps down from its throne, its pink crown held high, crimson gems glimmering like roses. _"Anger and compassion. Light and darkness. One cannot exist without the other… yet it is this delicate balance that makes living so worthwhile."_

Mesprit hovers over Cyrus's head. _"Are you happy with your decision, my child?"_

Cyrus nods. Cynthia could've sworn the Guardian cracked a smile.

_"Good. Now, don't you two have a Time Gear to obtain? Oh, and don't worry about me. Myself, Uxie, and Azelf have been planning precisely for this moment."_

Cynthia nudges him. "Cyrus, you good? I'm going to carry you, all right?" No complaints when she swings him up. _Note to self: after this is all over, I'm treating you to a buffet._

Mesprit guides the way out. With a wave of its tail, a crystalline bridge rises from the silver lake. Cynthia skips over the carnage, and soon they're back where they started: The Time Gear pedestal.

"Cyrus," she says. "Do the honors."

Cyrus plucks the Time Gear. Light immediately darkens.

_"Go!"_ Mesprit hisses. Then Cynthia's sprinting back down the pathway. She risks a glance back, and Holy Arceus did Crystal Cave change within a heartbeat of time.

_"Faster, Cynthia!"_

"I can't fly like you!"

Mesprit scowls. _"Would you rather be frozen in time? We cannot afford to lose either of you like we did Dialga!"_

The paralysis is breathing on the back of her neck. With a crazed, primal screech, Cynthia dives out the entrance just in time before everything comes crashing down.

"Chirp, chirp." Cynthia peels her face from a tepid puddle. It's bright outside. Natural brightness feels so strange after spending an eternity in that cave.

_"Azelf told me of an earthquake at his location,"_ Mesprit is muttering. _"According to Uxie, there were two hailstorms at Treeshoud and Mystifiying Forest…"_ It shivers. _"Hurry. Let us return to your base of operations."_

"Um… Well, we were actually thinking of going up to Spear Pillar—"

"Wait." It's the first time he'd spoken in a while. There's something in his hand: a crumpled black headset he'd apparently been fiddling with during their escape.

_"Zzt… zzt… rus! MASTER CYRUS, PLEASE RESPOND! MASTER CYRUS! "_

"I'm here, Saturn. Everyone, rendezvous at the Old Chateau." With that, the headset explodes.

_"I can teleport you,"_ Mesprit offers. _"Although I don't recommend it for the faint of heart."_

"I think we're good." Cynthia summons Togekiss. _Thank Arceus it forgave me._ She mounts the bird easily, even with this load on her back.

As they soar over cloudy skies, Cynthia turns to him. "Cyrus, you should rest for a bit. Um… Sorry about your crutches. Jupiter should be able to patch you up…"

"Thank you."

A warmth pulsates in her stomach. Suddenly she's aware of how close he is, how his breath tickles her ear. "O-Oh. I-It's no biggie…"

"Cynthia." Her heart gives a flying leap. The sun expels the clouds, casting brilliant sunlight over his eyes which now shine like the clearest of skies. As she gawks, a truly pleasant smile melts the remnants of that icy mask. 

"Thank you for not giving up on me."


	41. Revision Stage

Banh here! Thanks everyone for reading this far into the story!

I've been meaning to rewrite this for a long time, but it's a really daunting thing, now that it's hitting 40+ chapters. However, I feel it's necessary to move on, now that I have a clearer vision of the plot.

There's a lot of stuff I want to change. Lots of clutter to remove. Change some characterizations, introduce characters earlier, all that. Now that I'm more confident with my headcannons, I can make the story more cohesive. It'll reflect something I can take pride in.

All in all, I want to thank everyone for their comments and continuing support! I'll leave this old thing here for sentimental reasons.

I'll pull a Pokemon Platinum/Black and White 2 and put up the new story soon.</p >

[WTSS Revised](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291586)


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